


The Inclining of Stars

by SlytherinDemigod18



Series: Blessed Be the Wicked (We Were All Born Innocent) [1]
Category: The Assassin's Blade - Fandom, Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Book 0.5: The Assassin's Blade, Book 1: Throne of Glass, Canon Divergence - Kingdom of Ash, Canon Divergence - Throne of Glass, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Continuity What Continuity, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Graphic Description of Corpses, How Could I?, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Just deal with it, Kingdom of Ash Spoilers, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reading the Books, Secret Identity, Slow To Update, Swearing, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Torture, and im too lazy to look through the books for minor details, arobynn hamel makes me sick, because we all know i have an awful memory, but i figured it was best to tag it anyway, he is my child now, i have named the soldier, i realized i forgot to add fleetfoot to the character list, it really only happens when i have a fit of inspiration tbh, it really shouldn't be a surprise by this point, its very subtle, mild canon divergence for the rest of the books, no beta we die like men, no more than what is actually in the book, sam deserved better, the assassin and the desert, the assassin and the healer, the assassin and the pirate lord, theres just a lot of blood, we all know the character death tagged is sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 93,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23491249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinDemigod18/pseuds/SlytherinDemigod18
Summary: He would take them all on, all of them; Maeve, Erawan, the gods, it didn’t matter. Whatever he had to do to keep his wife safe, he would do.And then the gods give him a second chance.They give him a stack of books and send him careening into the past to a time when familiar blue and gold eyes don't blaze with fire and the war has yet to be waged.Honestly, fuck the gods.
Relationships: Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Rowan Whitethorn, Sam Cortland/Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien
Series: Blessed Be the Wicked (We Were All Born Innocent) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690141
Comments: 491
Kudos: 454
Collections: Time Travel Fix It Fics





	1. what was and what was meant to be

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think I've ever seen a 'character's read their books' story for Throne of Glass so I decided to write one. It won't focus a lot on romance because I have no idea how to write that xD but rather on character development and taking a look at the past and present through the knowledge of the future. 
> 
> This is set right before Pelor gets eliminated, when there are only seven champions left.
> 
> Also, it's been a while since I've read the series in depth (I'm rereading it with my sister but its slow going) so any plot holes and inaccuracies are a result of poor memory. Whoops, sorry.

Rowan stared down the road into the darkness ahead. Only four years before, his wife had been dragged in chains to the caves nearby and had been handed a pickaxe, told to swing it for her sins. Mine the salt that the universe seemed intent on rubbing in her wounds. 

The light from the fires flickered behind him and Rowan knew that the others were watching him, but none dared approach him. Human or not, they had all heard the stories of the rage of a grieving fae. 

His hand brushed the knife at his belt and he tensed. He would take them all on, all of them; Maeve, Erawan, the gods, it didn’t matter. Whatever he had to do to keep his wife safe, he would do. Only hours separated them from the climax of the war - the forging of the Lock. Aelin was finally asleep in their bed, but Rowan found himself restless. Their argument before she’d finally given up on the stack of ancient books still rang in his chest. She’d agreed to let Dorian forge the lock with her, but refused to let him make the final sacrifice. 

_ Adarlan needs him _ , she whispered as they lay together in the darkness of their tent, desperately trying to forget what the morning would bring.  _ They've barely recovered from his father’s time on the throne and Hollin would destroy the country. Terrasen has you - and Aedion. _

Aelin might have already accepted her fate, her punishment from the gods for an ancestor’s mistake, but Rowan hadn’t. 

He’d lost a wife before, he wasn’t going to lose a mate this time. 

Rowan knelt on the cold ground. Stones bit into his knees and the morning dew dampened his pants but he didn’t care. Not if this was a last-ditch effort, if he was the only one fighting for her survival. He wasn’t above humbling himself and admitting he couldn’t do it himself; he wasn’t above begging or doing whatever it would take so long as Aelin survived.

_ Mala Fire-Bringer, please hear me. Your Heir, Aelin of the Wildfire, is to atone for the sins of her ancestor for a crime that happened at the dawn of time. You have been most generous with me, but there is one more thing I must ask of you. Show me a way to stop the war without the Lock taking Aelin’s life. Please,  _ please _ do this for my mate. After everything, she deserves a happy ending. Please. _

The wind sighed around him and caressed his face in its soft embrace.  _ One change, prince, _ it whispered,  _ one change to change the future and to change the past. You will be the catalyst but it is up to your mate to change the path she would have taken. _

There was a harsh glow that caused Rowan to screw his eyes shut and a soft thud as something landed on the dirt before him. 

The night air was still as Rowan opened his eyes and beheld the bundle sitting on the damp ground. 

Books.

He looked on in bewilderment at the eight books before him.

This -  _ these fucking books _ \- was the gods’ response to Rowan’s plea? His fists clenched with the urge to fight the gods themselves, to take them out one by one and  _ make _ them forgive Aelin and Elena and whoever else was involved in this  _ gods-damned mess _ .

But then he remembered Aelin, sleeping alone in their tent and the way she’d reached for his warmth in her sleep as he left. He couldn’t leave her - not tonight. Not when this might be their  _ last _ night.

So with a heavy heart, knowing that even the gods looked down upon them and laughed, Rowan scooped up the bundle of books.

They were warm to the touch and the pages were achingly brittle - as though the words within them were so ancient, so forbidden that they would save or raze the world depending on who held them at that moment. The covers were faded and dusty and Rowan couldn’t make out the titles or the intricate designs woven into the leather, but they felt… familiar, somehow. As though Mala had breathed these very tomes into existence.

The books felt like  _ Aelin _ , so familiar and mysterious and powerful that they could tip the balance of the scales.

All of this Rowan noticed in a heartbeat, for that heartbeat was all it took for him to disappear.

  
  
  
  


Celaena observed the champions gathered in the throne room languidly. She’d met a few of them, but most of those she hadn’t cared to introduce herself to had been eliminated already. Seven of them remained and with their next test only in a few hours, even Celaena would admit that something heavy curled in her stomach.

Only a few more tests and she’d be the Champion, free to win back her freedom and then free to disappear and be whomever she wanted to be. 

She could leave the contracts and the killing behind and move back home to Terrasen, maybe raise a few goats.

The idea amused her.

Even still, Celaena found herself wiping her sweaty palms on the dark leather of her pants, absolutely and definitely more terrified than she wanted to admit.

Keeping her gaze cool as she swept her eyes across the room, she noticed that she wasn’t the only one confused and concerned about why they’d been brought to the throne room.

Sweat dripped down Pelor’s pale, freckled face, and his breath came in slight heaves, as though he’d run half-way across the castle to make it to the meeting. His hand twitched and his eyes darted across the room, lingering on the massive glass doors to the balcony but he made no move towards them.

He knew as well as she did that one of the many guards in the room would cut him down before he would even have made it halfway.

Out of all of them, Cain was the only one keeping a decently normal profile. His face was paler and the bags under his eyes were more profound, but he otherwise looked unaffected by being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night.

The full moonlight drifted through the stained glass windows breaking through the thick stone walls. The seven champions waited as the moon slowly lazed its way across the sky, all wondering why they’d been brought there.

She bit her lip. The guard had said it was an urgent summons.

Finally, just as Celaena had managed to rest her head against the wall in a comfortable position, the tall mahogany doors slammed open and Dorian walked in.

She was instantly at alert, snapping back into a standing position from where she’d been leaning against the wall. Chaol followed Dorian in through the doors, which explained why it had been one of her door guards who’d woken her up. His eyes were trained on the prince before him but Celaena could tell by the tension in his shoulders that he was studying the room. 

Chaol’s hand hadn’t left his sword.

That alone put her on edge. If Chaol believed that there was reason to believe a fight would break out, then she believed him.

Gods, how far had they come for her to actually  _ trust  _ his judgement?

Even still, she found herself assessing the guards in the room, calculating which one would be the easiest to overpower and steal his weapon.

And then the reason Chaol was so tense came through the door.

Silver hair met sun-kissed skin as the man stalked into the room, entirely predatory in his gait. His green eyes held a depth of sorrow and mischief and strength that even Elena’s did not.

Celaena noticed with undisguised interest the tattoo that swirled around his face and undoubtedly disappeared beneath the crisp shirt he wore.

He was handsome, Celaena would give him that, but there was something off about him and she just couldn’t put her finger on it…

And then the moonlight caught a glint of sharp teeth and pointed ears and she realized with a start what she’d been missing all along.

The man - male - was  _ fae _ .

Fae on a continent where their kind had been hunted for years. In a country whose crops were fertilized through the ashes of the bonfires the soldiers had burned them and every other magic wielder in. In the capital of an empire at the heart of a decade-long reign of terror.

Celaena knew the moment the other champions realized who stood before them when the air in the room  _ shifted _ .

Dorian took no notice. He lounged in his throne like a god amongst men, sprawled with his legs spread slightly apart. He probably wouldn’t have gotten away with that if the king or queen had been in the room, but the crown on his head held everyone to silence.

“This,” he waved a hand towards the fae, “Is Prince Rowan Whitethorn, ambassador from Doranelle.”

No one in the room spoke as the fae prince settled on the dais behind Dorian. Celaena hardly dared to breath.

“My father is away on business,” Dorian continued, his eyes hardening and sweeping across the room to look at every one of them, even the guards, in their eyes, “And I am Prince Regent in his absence. I do not care what the war on magic may have decreed over the past decades, but Prince Rowan has diplomatic immunity from both champion and guard alike. Is that understood?”

Celaena had never seen Dorian like this, such a far cry from the carefree, arrogant prince who’d visited her chambers on several occasions to play billiards or read books. 

It was a glimmering taste of the king he would become.

The fae’s eyes roamed over all the champions, the slightest acknowledgement in his eyes when he looked at Nox, the corners of his mouth twitching into the barest traces of a scowl when he glanced at Cain, his eyes finally settling on her…

Something deep and unnerving shone in those eyes as he beheld her. It made her heart skip a beat, but not in a good way.

This male knew her, she was sure. Knew who and what she was.

But to Celaena’s surprise, the fae prince just moved his gaze along, turning his attention back to Dorian.

“The gods have ordered us together for reasons yet unknown,” Dorian held up a folded slip of paper tucked between his fingers and his voice trembled ever so slightly. If Celaena didn’t know him as well as she did, she wouldn’t have even known it was there. “Prince Rowan can explain it better than I can.”

Celaena raised an eyebrow. Humility? That was  _ not _ like Dorian at all. What had he been shown that would make him like that?

“I thank you, Prince Dorian,” Rowan stepped forwards into the light of the fireplace. Celaena had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. It was all diplomacy with those royal types, wasn’t it? 

“Mala Fire-Bringer came to me last night,” Rowan continued, his brogue rolling over his words and  _ damn _ , it wasn’t fair what that did to her. “In my time, in the near future, Erilea stands on the brink of all-out annihilation. War threatens every country and at its epicenter is a person in this room.”

The room tittered. Nox shifted on his feet and Renault chewed on his lip.

Celaena felt her blood run cold. Surely this wasn’t what Elena had been hinting at…

“I was chosen to bring this knowledge to you all in the past in the hopes that you could fix what we could not.” Rowan walked down the steps of the dais and placed a bundle on the long counselor's table that stretched the length of the room.

“These books,” he said, untying the leather straps that bound them together, “Contain the knowledge of the next three years following the events of one of the champions.”

The seven of them eyed each other. With her luck, Celaena sighed silently, it would be her.

She glanced at the books again and did a quick mental calculation. Eight books for three years. Celaena may have been no philosopher or mathematician, but she knew that meant that a  _ lot _ was going to happen.

So much for the goats.

Rowan stepped back silently and returned to the shadows of the dais outside of the fireplace’s reach, only his silver hair visible in the darkness.

“Well,” Dorian clapped his hands and leaned forwards in his throne. “No sense in wasting any time. Take a seat and we’ll start reading.”

Celaena stifled a groan and shot him a withering glare.

If looks could kill, Dorian would have been gutted right then and there.


	2. i am the storm fate whispers of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've skipped some lines/paragraphs in an effort to keep the story moving, so any time there is a '...' it means a skipped a line or two. Don't worry, it'll still make sense.
> 
> I've come up with a name for the soldier. I've created a character for him. He is kind of my child now.
> 
> On a more serious note, I would really appreciate the kudos and comments right now. Everyone's in quarantine and I just found out that I've been put on an emergency unpaid leave of absence from my job until July so it's become a lot harder managing my funds around university and I'm probably not going back to high school to complete my senior year, so I'll never get my graduation or my prom. 
> 
> I know this sounds really selfish and there are a lot of people worse off then I am, but I'm really feeling down in the dumps and would appreciate someone just acknowledging that my work is good for once.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all like it!

Rowan watched from the dais as the champions hesitantly took their seats at the councilors table. None of them sat directly beside one another, always leaving at least one chair empty between themselves and the next champion. The candlelight from the chandeliers cast growing shadows across the room and bathed his face in shadow. That was intentional on his part, hiding himself in part from the thing inside Cain, but also from Celaena.

_Celaena._

It wasn’t his wife who sat across the room, Rowan had to remind himself. This was an assassin who’d recently spent a year in hell and come out better for it. She, even after months of training in the castle, was still thin and almost sickly pale. Her eyes darted around the room, narrowing when they landed on him and he had to clamp down on the ugly thing rearing within him when her eyes drifted to Nox and she offered a small smile. 

This girl didn’t know him, not yet, and it wouldn’t be fair to her - both past and present - to treat her as though she did.

For all intents and purposes, this version of his mate was a stranger.

“Please, take a seat, Prince,” Dorian raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the table, but Rowan knew it for what it was. 

A test, to prove his loyalty. Dorian was taking a massive risk in even letting him reside inside the walls of the castle and was silently demanding that he prove himself - _prove his intentions of helping Celaena._

Rowan knew that Dorian had intentions of courting Celaena at this time and he knew she harbored similar feelings. He saw the way Dorian’s eyes had lingered on Celaena while he’d explained the books and had to take a deep breath.

_Not mine, not yet._

He knew that at that moment there was a male across the sea, waiting for her to come and lift him out of the darkness. That had been him, but it wasn’t him now. Just as Celaena was Aelin, he wasn’t the same Rowan she’d first met.

Dorian had certainly been surprised when Rowan had shown up in his room in the middle on the night, stumbling and nearly landing right on the prince as he regained his balance from his trip through the fabric of time. Rowan honestly thought it would have taken more effort on his part to convince him, but the moment he’d pushed his cowl back and revealed the markers of his fae heritage, the prince had frozen when he sat.

_Why are the books glowing?_ Dorian had whispered.

Rowan had just raised an eyebrow. He could see the magic surrounding the books, but he’d just assumed it was because he was in the wrong time. Aelin had mentioned that Dorian’s magic had been left unchecked throughout his childhood, but it had never really clicked with Rowan that Dorian would have been able to access his magic even before he knew his heritage.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Rowan slid into a seat near the end of the table and hid a smirk as Chaol narrowed his eyes and sat in the seat directly opposite him, at the right hand of his prince but still ensuring that he was close enough to Rowan to intercept him if the fae went after Dorian.

Of course, Rowan was faster and more agile than the Captain could ever hope to be, but he figured he’d keep that to himself.

  
  


“Ahem,” a wiry, freckle-faced boy seated to Celaena’s left spoke up in a hesitant voice, “I, um, well, I wondered… _who’sgoingtostart_?”

He said the last few words very quickly and flushed to the tips of his pimply ears as everyone turned to face him. As if realizing he’d just indirectly address Dorian and the Captain without permission, he squeaked and slouched in his seat.

Rowan raised an eyebrow and saw out of the corner of his eye as Celaena scoffed and crossed her arms. 

“Well, -” Dorian stumbled over his words for a moment before Chaol rose to whisper something in his ear. “-Pelor, I do believe you’ve just volunteered yourself.”

Pelor’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “A-all of them?”

“I guess you could all take turns reading,” Dorian said with a wave of his hand. “But you’ll start.”

With a shaky nod, Pelor reached his spindly arms across the table to grab the first book off the stack. 

Gods, Rowan wondered, how had this boy even gotten this far in the tournament?

“ **The Assassin’s Blade** ,” Pelor squeaked out.

Celaena went very still.

“ **Part One: The Assassin and the Pirate Lord.** ”

Pelor’s brow furrowed as he read the next few lines silently, before he glanced up at Dorian. “Are - are you sure, well, I mean - can this book be trusted? Because it doesn’t look like it has anything to do with any of us.”

“Just read it,” Dorian sighed.

**Seated in the council room of the Assassin’s Keep, Celaena Sardothien leaned back in her chair.**

Cain scoffed, interrupting Pelor. “Why do we have to read about this bitch? She’s dead and rotting in Endovier.” 

Rowan felt something cold rush through his veins. “I would advise you to let Pelor get on with the story.”

The slight chill in the air was just enough to prompt Cain into silence.

_At least, for the moment,_ Rowan sighed inwardly.

Pelor glanced between them, and then wisely began to read again.

” **It’s past four in the morning… This had better be important.”**

**“Perhaps if you hadn’t been reading all night, you wouldn’t be so exhausted,”snapped the young man seated across from her. She ignored him and studied the four other people assembled in the underground chamber.**

**All male, all far older than she, all refusing to meet her stare. A chill that didn’t have to do with the drafty room ran down her spine… The five assassins gathered at the long table - including herself - were five of Arobynn Hamel’s seven most trusted companions.**

A short, mousy-haired champion sat up straighter in his chair. A wicked grin made his way onto his face and when he spoke, he revealed a series of crooked yellow teeth. “Arobynn Hamel must have been truly desperate if he hired a girl.”

A muscle in Celaena’s jaw jumped, but she didn’t say anything. _They don’t know who you are_ , she had to remind herself.

“Watch your tone, boy,” Rowan said lowly. 

“It’s Grave,” the assassin snapped. “Not that you need to know, _fae_.”

He spat it like an insult.

**This meeting was undeniably important… When Arobynn summoned you, you didn’t keep him waiting. Thankfully, her sleepwear was as exquisite as her daytime wardrobe - and cost nearly as much.**

Rowan swallowed hard as he remembered the golden nightgown she wore the night he’d kissed her for the first time.

**Still, being sixteen in a room with men made her keep an eye on the neckline of her robe.**

At once, all thoughts of Aelin and nightgowns were thrown out of Rowan’s head. _They better not have touched a hair on her head._

He gritted his teeth.

Oblivious to Rowan’s internal death-threats towards the members of the Assassin’s Guild, the old soldier sat back in his chair. “Sixteen? There’s no way Adarlan’s Assassin was _sixteen_. A sixteen-year-old girl can’t execute the kinds of kills credited towards Adarlan’s Assassin.”

Nox rolled his eyes. “Honestly, I think skill is the least-founded base you could have chosen, but still, if _this_ Celaena was Adarlan’s Assassin, that would have meant she had to have started killing when she was eight. It has to have been another Celaena.”

Beside him, Celaena shifted.

**Arobynn Hamel, King of the Assassins, lounged at the head of the table, his auburn hair shining in the light from the glass chandelier. His silver eyes met hers, and he frowned. It might have just been the late hour, but Celaena could have sworn that her mentor was paler than usual. Her stomach twisted.**

**“Gregori’s been caught,” Arobynn finally said. Well, that would explain one person missing from the meeting. “His mission was a trap. He’s now being held in the royal dungeons.”**

Chaol frowned.

**Celaena sighed through her nose.** **_This_ ** **was why she’d been awakened? … “Then kill him,” she said.**

“Holy shit,” Pelor breathed, then blushed when he realized where he was. “I mean, doesn’t she have a sense of honour?”

Dorian shook his head slowly. Rowan could tell he was fighting the urge to look at Celaena. “No,” he said slowly. “I don’t think she does.”

Across from him, Chaol looked sick.

**She’d never liked Gregori, anyway. When she was ten, she’d fed his horse a bag of candy and he’d thrown a dagger at her head. She’d caught the dagger, of course, and ever since, Gregori had borne the scar on his cheek from her return throw.**

**“** **_Kill_ ** **Gregori?” demanded Sam,**

Celaena let out an almost inaudible whimper. If it wasn’t for his fae hearing, Rowan never would have heard it. He glanced over and saw the tear that slowly meandered its way down her cheek, but he quickly looked away, not wanting to draw attention to her.

**The young man seated at Arobynn’s left - a place that usually went to Ben, Arobynn’s second-in-command. Celaena knew very well what Sam Cortland thought of her.**

_No, not until it was too late,_ a voice in the back of Celaena’s head whispered. _He loved you and you sent him to his death_.

**...And now, at seventeen, a year older than she, Sam still hadn’t forgotten that he would always be second best.**

“Yeah,” Cain’s laugh was more like the growl of a wild beast. “Because Hamel was too busy thinking with his d-”

Rowan was at his throat before he could finish his sentence.

“I suggest,” Rowan whispered, “That you do us all a favour and refrain from making such comments.”

He released Cain and walked back to his seat, ignoring the guards with their swords drawn. Cain rolled his eyes, but only when Rowan’s back was turned.

**… “If Gregori’s been caught,” Celaena drawled, brushing back a strand of her long, golden hair,**

Nox stiffened and Rowan saw him glance at Celaena out of the corner of his eye.

**“Then the protocol’s simple: send an apprentice to slip something into his food. Nothing painful,” she added as the men around her tensed. “Just enough to silence him before he talks.”**

**Which Gregori might very well do, if he was in the royal dungeons… The location of the Assassin’s Guild was a well-guarded secret, one she’d been trained to keep until her last breath.**

_Please don’t reveal it here,_ Celaena begged. If Arobynn found out it was her (her, but not really - not that it would matter to him) that revealed the location, she’d be flayed alive.

**But even if she didn’t, no one was likely to believe that an elegant manor house on a respectable street in Rifthold was home to some of the greatest assassins in the world?**

Celaena groaned as Dorian raised an eyebrow. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chaol beckon to one of his men. 

“You haven’t said much, Lillian,” Nox turned toward her. “Why is that?”

“Just… taking in the story, I guess,” she lied through her teeth.

Arobynn was going to _kill_ her.

**... “And if he’s already talked?” challenged Sam.**

**“And if Gregori’s already talked,” she said, “then kill everyone who heard.” Sam’s brown eyes flashed as she gave him a little smile that she knew made him irate. Celaena turned to Arobynn. “But you didn’t need to drag us here to decide this. You already gave the order, did you?”**

**Arobynn nodded, his mouth a thin line… Silence fell, and a roaring noise filled her ears as Arobynn took a breath. Something was wrong.**

**“What else?” she asked, leaning forward. The other assassins focused on the table. Whatever had happened, they knew. Why hadn’t Arobynn told her first?**

“Not as special as you think you are,” Grave sang.

Renault sniggered next to him.

Gripping the arms of her chair, Celaena had to remind herself to take deep breaths.

**Arobynn’s silver eyes became steel. “Ben was killed.”**

Celaena exhaled.

**… “What?”** **_Ben_ ** **\- Ben, the ever-smiling assassin who had trained her as often as Arobynn had.**

The soldier frowned. “Hamel trains his assassins personally?”

_Not all of us,_ Celaena wanted to say, _just the best._ But she couldn’t reveal herself, not yet. That would be saved for then end of the tournament when she beat all their sorry asses. Instead, she ran her hands over the fine grain of the wood of her hair and mentally counted all the blades she had hidden beneath her clothing.

**Ben, who’d once mended her shattered right hand.**

_Shattered?_ Pelor mouthed before continuing.

**Ben, the seventh and final member of Arobynn’s inner circle. He was barely thirty years old. Celaena’s lip pulled back from her teeth. “What do you mean, ‘killed’?”**

**.... “It was supposed to be Gregori’s mission,” Arobynn said quietly. “I don’t know why Ben was involved. Or who betrayed them. They found his body near the castle gates.”**

Celaena’s eyes narrowed. She had an inkling, pieces of a puzzle she’d been putting together…

**“Do you have his body?” she demanded…**

**“No,” Arobynn said.**

**“Why the hell not?” her fists clenched and unclenched.**

**“Because the place was swarming with guards and soldiers!” Sam burst out and she whipped her head towards him. “How do you think we learned about this in the first place?”**

**… “If we’d grabbed his body,” Sam said, refusing to back down from her glare, “It would have led them right to the Keep.”**

“Even still,” Pelor looked up from the book. “Shouldn’t they have tried to get the body?”

Dorian shrugged. “His reasoning is sound, but it doesn’t matter now. We have the location of the Keep and Chaol will be sending men when this is all over.”

Celaena pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. Her old master or not, Arobynn was _definitely_ going to kill her.

**… Celaena pushed her chair back so hard it flipped over.**

Rowan raised an eyebrow.

**“If I’d been there, I would have killed** **_all of them_ ** **to get Ben’s body back!” she slammed her hands on the table, rattling the glasses.**

**Sam shot to his feet, hand on the hilt of his sword. “Oh, listen to you. Ordering us like** **_you_ ** **run the Guild. But not yet, Celaena.” He shook his head. “Not yet.”**

And now she never would, Celaena mused. It was oddly… freeing, somehow, knowing that her future was no longer tied to the Guild.

Once she was free, she would be able to do what _she_ wanted for the first time in… well, her entire life. 

It sounded nice.

**“** **_Enough,_ ** **” Arobynn snapped, rising from his chair.**

**Celaena and Sam didn’t move. None of the other assassins spoke, though they gripped their various weapons. She’d seen first-hand what fights at the Keep were like; the weapons were as much for the bearers’ own safety as they were to prevent her and Sam from doing serious damage to each other.**

**“I said,** **_enough_ ** **.”**

**If Sam took one step toward her, drew his sword a fraction of an inch, that concealed dagger in her robe would find itself a new home in his neck.**

Nox hummed. “I doubt Celaena could be as good at throwing knives as you, Lillian.”

The blood in Celaena’s veins froze. “Thank you,” she said calmly, making sure not to let a hint of what she was really feeling seep through. “But I think an assassin is probably better than a simple jewel thief.”

**Arobynn moved first, grabbing Sam’s chin in one hand, forcing the young man to look at him. “Check yourself or I’ll do it for you, boy,” he murmured. “You’re a fool for picking a fight with her tonight.”**

_Or any night_ , Rowan added mentally. He’d seen Aelin fight and even when she came to Mistward, she had been a force to be reckoned with. Or, would have been, if he wasn’t fae. Mortals, on the other hand, wouldn’t have stood a chance.

**… But Sam released the hilt of his sword. After a moment, Arobynn removed his grip on Sam’s face, but didn’t step away. Sam kept his gaze on the floor as he strode to the far side of the council room. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the wall. She could still reach him - one flick of her wrist, and his throat would spout blood.**

Renault let out a bark of laughter that lacked humor. “She’s too over confident. The moment she’s faced with a real man, she’ll back down.”

Celaena made to get out of her seat, eyes blazing, but before she could, Dorian spoke up.

“Calm yourselves, boys, or I’ll have to have you removed.” He spoke it casually, almost bored, but Celaena could see the tension in his limbs as he clenched the arm of his throne.

**“Celaena,” Arobynn said, his voice echoing in the silent room.**

**Enough blood had been spilled tonight; they didn’t need another dead assassin.**

**Ben. Ben was dead and gone, and she’d never again run into him in the halls of the Keep…**

**“Celaena,” Arobynn warned again.**

**“I’m done,” Celaena snapped. She rolled her neck, running a hand through her hair. She stalked to the door, but paused on the threshold.**

**“Just so you know,” she said, speaking to all of them but still watching Sam, “I’m going to retrieve Ben’s body… But don’t expect me to extend the same courtesy to the rest of you when your time comes.”**

The soldier let out a low whistle. “That girl sounds like she’d be a force to be reckoned with.”

Cain rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing but a show.”

He was looking right at Celaena as he said it and Rowan had to resist the urge to reach across the table and strangle him.

**With that, she turned on her heel and ascended the spiral staircase to the manor above. Fifteen minutes later, no one stopped her when she slipped out the front gates and into the silent city streets**

Pelor closed the book and practically threw it back on the table. Everyone sat in silence for a few moments before the soldier reached for it.

“I guess, I can read - if that’s alright you you, your highness,” he added.

“Yes, thank you -” Dorian trailed off.

“Telmor, your highness,” the soldier said softly.

“Well then, Telmor, start reading.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking it through, and I'm pretty sure Cain knew that she was Aelin, not that she was Celaena, but I can't be sure. Either way, that's what I'm going with. He'll be as surprised as everyone else when they find out ;) 
> 
> Also, I want to be clear that there will be no romance between Celaena and Rowan.


	3. another day another destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who reviewed! I woke up this morning (afternoon, whatever. Time has no place in a quarantine) and almost cried at the reviews I found. They just made my day!

The old soldier - Telmor, Celaena now knew he was called - picked up the book and stifled a yawn. He was older than the rest of them, she noticed, dark brown hair greying at the temples and crows feet appearing around his eyes, but he’d lasted far longer than most of the champions had. Even still, Celaena didn’t doubt that she could best him in a fight, despite the strength that still resided strongly in his body. She hadn’t really met him aside from the odd sparring practice Brullo made them participate in.

She sighed and decided to delay passing judgement on him for now. If her hunch was correct, she’d need all the allies she could gather before these books were over.

“ **Chapter Two** ,” Telmor read.

**Two months, three days, and about eight hours later, the clock on the mantel chimed noon.**

Nox cracked a sleepy smile. “Oddly specific for someone who is ‘just show,’” he said to Cain.

The mountain man bared his teeth in return.

**Captain Rolfe, Lord of the Pirates, was late. Then again, so were Celaena and Sam, but Rolfe had no excuse, not when they were already two hours behind schedule. Not when they were meeting in** **_his_ ** **office.**

Rowan leaned forward in his seat. Was he finally going to get the whole story about why Aelin’s bar tab was being used for target practice in Rolfe’s office?

**And it wasn’t** **_her_ ** **fault for being tardy. She couldn’t control the winds, and those skittish sailors had certainly taken their time sailing into the archipelago of the Dead Islands…**

“Maybe it’s because it’s a dangerous archipelago that teems with pirates and shallow waters?” Chaol depanned.

Dorian snorted.

Celaena just rolled her eyes. 

**Celaena, concealed behind a far-too-stuffy black cloak, tunic, and ebony mask, rose from her seat before the Pirate Lord’s desk. How dare he make her wait! He knew precisely why they were here, after all.**

“I’m sure anyone meeting with someone dressed like that would want to delay it as long as possible,” Rowan said, crossing his arm with the slightest smirk dancing across his lips.

Celaena narrowed her eyes. Something about this male rubbed her the wrong way. However much he knew about her, Celaena was now certain it was far more than she wanted. The way he’d said that had held only traces of fondness and amusement, neither of which were usually associated with her.

**Three assassins had been found murdered by pirate hands, and Arobynn had sent her to be his personal dagger - to extract retribution, preferably the gold kind, for what their deaths would cost to the Assassin’s Guild...**

“Are we sure this isn’t Adarlan’s Assassin?” Pelor asked timidly, “I mean, she did just say she was the personal weapon of Arobynn Hamel and wasn’t that what she was known for?”

For once, Renault was quiet, exchanging a glance with Nox, but Cain and Grave just rolled their eyes at the boy-assassin.

“If anyone would know,” Nox said, “It would be Lillian.”

“Yeah,” Grave turned to Celaena, “Did you meet up every week to exchange beauty tips?” 

He sniggered at his own joke, but Celaena decided she’d had enough of him. “I’ve met her - on a few occasions.”

That sent the room into silence.

“She’s surprisingly good at gutting a man. Attractive, too,” she added.

Rowan snorted.

**Neither of them had been particularly happy when Arobynn announced that Sam would be sent to the Dead Islands with Celaena. Especially when Ben’s body - which Celaena** **_had_ ** **retrieved - had barely been in the ground for two months. The sting of losing him hadn’t exactly worn off.**

**Her mentor had called Sam an escort, but Celaena knew what his presence meant: a watchdog. Not that she’d do anything bad when she was about to meet the Pirate Lord of Erilea.**

Celaena wanted to roll her eyes but couldn’t bring herself to. What she would give at that moment to have Sam standing beside her, watchdog or not…

She wanted to apologize, beg for his forgiveness, but it was too late and she didn’t even know where he was buried.

It was hard to blink back the tears.

**Even though the tiny, mountainous island and ramshackle port city hadn’t really made that much of an impression so far.**

**She’d been expecting a manor house like the Assassins’ Keep, or at least a fortified, aging castle, but the Pirate Lord occupied the entire top floor of a rather suspect tavern. The ceilings were low, the wooden floors creaked, and the cramped room combined with the already-sizzling temperature of the southern islands meant Celaena was sweating buckets beneath her clothing. But her discomfort was worth it: as they’d strode through Skull’s Bay, heads had turned at the sight of her - the billowing black cape, the exquisite clothing, and the mask transformed her into a whisper of darkness...**

“An avenging, dark god,” Pelor said, eyes lighting up at the description.

“Careful, the gods might curse you for that comparison,” Telmor said, not looking up from the pages.

“Yeah, and what worse could they do?”

The boy had a point, Celaena had to admit.

**Celaena walked to the wooden desk and picked up a piece of paper, her black-gloved hands turning it over to read the contents…**

**“What are you doing?”**

**Celaena lifted another piece of paper. “If his Pirateness can’t be bothered to clean for us, then I don’t see why I can’t have a look.” … She picked up a flattened map, examining the dots and markings along the coastline of their continent. Something small and round gleamed beneath the map, and she slipped it into her pocket before Sam could notice.**

Chaol let out a long suffering sigh through his nose.

“Must I add thievery to the list of charges?” Dorian asked, but Celaena could see the smirk that danced in his eyes.

“What did Celaena pick up?” Pelor asked, craning his neck to see the pages.

Telmor shrugged. “It doesn’t say.”

**… “He can’t be a very good lord,” she said, “If** **_this_ ** **is his personal office.” Sam gave a stifled cry of dismay as Celaena plopped into the giant armchair behind the desk and set about opening the pirate’s ledgers and turning over his papers.**

If Sam had lived, Rowan decided as he rubbed his forehead, they would have bonded over how Aelin’s impulsivity and lack of tact usually got her in trouble.

Nox just raised an eyebrow and glanced at Celaena.

**… She didn’t know what she was looking for, exactly. Her brows rose a bit at the sight of a piece of purple, perfumed paper, signed by someone named Jacqueline.**

Pelor sniggered.

**She leaned back in the chair, propping her feet up on the desk, and read it.**

**“Damn it, Celaena!”**

**… Celaena huffed, though her breath only made the interior of the insufferable mask hotter. All the world knew about Celaena Sardothien, Adarlan’s Assassin, was that she was female.**

Silence.

Telmor slowly set the book down. “Female and  _ sixteen _ .”

“Holy shit,” Grave’s mouth dropped open slightly. A wicked grin crossed his face and Rowan had to snap a leash around his magic to stop it from lashing out at the assassin.

Nox looked faintly sick. “And she’s been cultivating this reputation since she was eight.”

Dorian frowned. He’d known Celaena had started young, but it had never connected with him as to  _ how _ young. Gods, she must have started training just after the fall of Terrasen.

“So that  _ is _ Adarlan’s Assassin, then?” Pelor said in a small voice.

Renault could do nothing but nod in response.

Even Cain was quiet.

None of them had ever realized that this assassin, this shadow with a larger than life reputation and enough fear behind her name to make a seasoned warrior shit his pants, was a  _ child _ .

**And she wanted to keep it that way.**

Celaena grumbled internally. The silence of the other champions was unnerving, but not as much as these books were.

**How else would she be able to stroll the broad avenues of Rifthold or infiltrate grand parties by posing as foriegn nobility? And while she wished that Rolfe could have the chance to admire her lovely face, she had to admit that the disguise also made her rather imposing, especially when the mask warped her voice into a growling rasp.**

“She’s dead, right?” Pelor chewed his lip.

Celaena wanted to roll her eyes, wondering how this cowardly boy had ever made it to be an assassin. She made herself remember that he was a poisons master and not a combat fighter and would likely be scared out of his wits if confronted with Adarlan’s Assassin. 

She also remembered herself at his age, barely coming into her maturity, and Ben’s kind words and helping hand. How he’d stayed up with her during thunderstorms for the first few years after her parents’ deaths, before Arobynn had made her weather them alone to rid herself of the fear.

“This woman is dead,” she told the gangly assassin. “No one survives Endovier.”

Nox furrowed his brow and glanced at her, but said nothing.

**“Get back in your seat.” Sam reached for a sword that wasn’t there. The guards at the entrance to the inn had taken their weapons. Of course, none of them realized that Sam and Celaena were weapons themselves. They could kill Rolfe with their bare hands.**

**“Or you’ll fight me?”**

**… Before he could speak, the door opened.**

**Sam froze, but Celaena only inclined her head in greeting as Captain Rolfe, Lord of the Pirates, entered his office.**

**“I’m glad to see you’ve made yourself at home.” The tall, dark-haired man shut the door behind him. Bold move, considered who was waiting in his office.**

“They’re too overconfident, the both of them,” Rowan crossed his arms.

“I don’t think so,” Celaena smirked, “Considering who she is.”

Rowan shook his head. “I’ve met Rolfe; he’s a force to be reckoned with as well. Maybe not so much so as Celaena, but she and Sam are also in his territory, where all there are loyal to him.”

**… Considering the tales she’d heard of Rolfe’s wild adventures, she had trouble believing this man - lean but not wiry, well dressed but not overly so, and probably in his late twenties - was the legendary pirate. Perhaps he, too, kept his identity secret from his enemies.**

**Sam stood, bowing his head slightly. “Sam Cortland,” he said by way of greeting.**

**Rolfe extended a hand, and Celaena watched his tattooed palm and fingers as they clasped Sam’s broad hand. The map -** **_that_ ** **was the mythic map that he’d sold his soul to have inked on his hands**

Rowan frowned as he remembered Rolfe telling them exactly what that trade had been.

**The map of the world’s oceans - the map that showed storms, foes… and treasure.**

“Woah!” Pelor’s eyes widened.

“What,” Nox said, amused, “Did your master never tell you the story of the legendary tattoo of Captain Rolfe?”

Cain snorted. “Of course not. His master was probably too far into the drink to tell him anything.”

Pelor’s answering glower told Cain that he should probably start watching his food for poison.

**“I suppose** **_you_ ** **don’t need an introduction.” Rolfe turned to her.**

**“No,” Celaena leaned back farther in his desk chair. “I suppose I don’t.”**

**Rolfe chuckled, a crooked smile spreading across his tanned face… He didn’t have a sword either. A bold move. Wise, too, given that they could easily use his weapons against him.**

**… Rolfe drank again, watching her for a heartbeat over the rim of his glass. His eyes were a striking shade of sea green, as bright as the water just a few blocks away. Lowering his glass, he approached the desk. “I don’t know how you handle things in the North, but down here, we like to know who we’re talking to.”**

**… She sensed the pirate grabbing for her shoulder and was on her feet before his fingers could graze the black wool of her cloak.**

Chaol raised his eyebrows. He’d known Celaena had fast reflexes - he’d been beaten by her enough times in practice to know that for certain - but to be able to just sense the movement of the air before the pirate even touched her? He looked at Celaena, at the figure that, even despite many months of food and training, was still slightly gaunt and fragile-looking. If she had once had reflexes like that, then by the gods, Chaol was going to help her build them back up, even if it meant they spent every free hour he had in the gym. She was going to win this competition whether she liked it or not.

**He stood a good head taller than her. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she crooned.**

**Rolfe’s eyes gleamed with the challenge. “You’re in** **_my_ ** **city, on** **_my_ ** **island.” Only a handbreadth separated them. “You’re not in any position to give me orders.”**

_ Please don’t pick a fight _ . Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose.

**… She could feel Rolfe watching their every movement, but he merely adjusted the lapels of his midnight-blue tunic before sitting down. Silence fell, only interrupted by the cry of the gulls circling above the city and the shouting of pirates calling to one another in the filthy streets.**

**“Well?” Rolfe rested his forearms on the desk.**

**Sam glanced at her. Her move.**

Celaena focused on her breathing, doing anything to distract herself from the book. She’d lived this already and Sam only dragged up memories of the worst kind. The feeling of his cold, lifeless body against hers in the dungeon of the Keep would be one she would never forget.

Her fists were clenched so tightly her fingernails broke the skin of her palm. She focused on counting the glass panes in the stainglass behind the throne.

**“You know precisely why we’re here,” Celaena said. “But perhaps all that brandy’s gone to your head. Shall I refresh your memory? … Three assassins from our Guild were found dead in Bellhaven. The one that got away told us they were attacked by pirates.” She draped an arm along the back of her chair. “** **_Your_ ** **pirates.”**

**“And how did the survivor know they were** **_my_ ** **pirates?”**

“Is this what the rabble does regularly?” Dorian sighed, disinterested and sprawled in his throne, “Bait each other into brawls with every disagreement?”

Renault exchanged a sour look with Grave, but neither of them were willing to launch a retort at the prince.

**She shrugged. “Perhaps it was the tattoos that gave them away.” All of Rolfe’s men had their wrists tattooed with the image of a multi-coloured hand.**

**Rolfe opened a drawer in his desk, pulled out a piece of paper and read the contents. He said, “Once I caught wind that Arobynn Hamel might blame me, I had the shipyard master of Bellhaven send me these records. It seems the incident occurred at three in the morning at the docks.”**

Celaena gripped the armrest. She remembered how this  _ infuriating  _ conversation had gone.

Nox leaned over. “Are you okay, Lillian? This seems to be bothering you a lot.”

She narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out his game. “I’m fine, thanks.”

**This time Sam answered. “That’s correct.”**

**Rolfe set down the paper and lifted his eyes skyward. “So if it was three in the morning, and it took place at the docks—which have no street lamps, as I’m sure you know”—she didn’t—“then how did your assassin see all of their tattoos?”**

**Beneath her mask, Celaena scowled. “Because it happened three weeks ago—during the full moon.”**

**“Ah. But it’s early spring. Even up in Bellhaven, nights are still cold. Unless my men were without coats, there was no way for—”**

**“Enough,” Celaena snapped. “I suppose that piece of paper has ten different paltry excuses for your men.”**

“Oh thank gods,” Pelor sighed and kicked his feet beneath the table. “I thought they might go on forever.”

**She grabbed the satchel from the floor and yanked out the two sealed documents. “These are for you.” She tossed them on the desk. “From our master.”**

**A smile tugged on Rolfe’s lips, but he pulled the documents to him, studying the seal. He held it up to the sunlight. “I’m surprised it hasn’t been tampered with.”**

**His eyes glimmered with mischief. Celaena could sense Sam’s smugness oozing out of him. With two deft flicks of his wrist, Rolfe sliced open both envelopes with a letter-knife she somehow hadn’t spotted. How had she missed it? A fool’s mistake.**

Grave smirked. “If that  _ girl _ had been the best in the Guild, I’m surprised Arobynn Hamel hasn’t been shamed into dropping his title. Now I’m glad I never wasted my time joining his Guild.”

Celaena’s ears burned and she fought the urge to jam one of her many knives into his throat. “Considering it’s a  _ girl _ ,” she said instead, “That became the Crown Prince’s Champion, maybe you’re just incompetent.” She’d just been a kid when Grave had attempted to join their Keep, but she still remembered how Arobynn had come out of the meeting looking slightly sick.

“I’m sure the prince chose a girl for more reasons than the comp-”

There was the screech of a sword being drawn and Grave found himself silenced by the blade at his throat, the eagle-headed pommel resting in Chaol’s hand. “I should have you executed for slander.”

Grave’s eyes were wide and his face was pale. All the guards in the room had their swords drawn and resting at their sides, waiting for their captain’s orders.

Dorian just waved his hand. “Stand down, Chaol. He’s just a simpleton and not worth your trouble. He’ll be sworn to secrecy after the competition anyway or killed and either way can do no harm.”

Chaol scowled and released the assassin but gestured for the guards to keep their swords drawn. “Make that mistake again,” he murmured so that only those at the table could hear him, “And I will have you thrown in the dungeons.”

Grave’s throat bobbed but he didn’t say anything.

**...They were supposed to be here for three days—long enough for Rolfe to gather the money he owed them. Which, judging by the growing frown on Rolfe’s face, was quite a lot...**

_ Not money, _ Celaena remembered with a sickening feeling growing in her stomach. She only hoped that she would be able to make it through what would undoubtedly be the next chapters of the story without having to leave the room.

**“Your master drives a hard bargain,” Rolfe said, looking from Celaena to Sam. “But his terms aren’t unfair. Perhaps you should have read the letter before you started flinging accusations at me and my men. There will be no retribution for those dead assassins. Whose deaths, your master agrees, were not my fault in the least. He must have some common sense, then.” Celaena quelled the urge to lean forward. If Arobynn wasn’t demanding payment for the death of those assassins, then what were they doing here?...**

**Rolfe drummed his inked fingers again and ran a hand through his shoulder-length dark hair. “As for the trade agreement he’s outlined . . . I’ll have my accountant draw up the necessary fees, but you’ll have to tell Arobynn that he can’t expect any profits until at least the second shipment. Possibly the third. And if he has an issue with that, then he can come down here himself to tell me.”**

**....Rolfe stuffed Arobynn’s letters into a desk drawer and locked it. “The slaves will be here in two days—ready for your departure the day after. I’ll even loan you my ship, so you can tell that trembling crew of yours they’re free to return to Rifthold tonight, if it pleases them.”**

**Celaena stared at him. Arobynn had sent them here for . . . for slaves?**

Rowan glanced at Celaena. Her jaw was tense and she looked distracted, as though she wasn’t enterally hearing the story.

_ Gods _ , Rowan hoped these books didn’t go into Sam’s death. From what she’d told him, it had been extremely violent and long and Rowan worried for her sanity if she had to hear about it again.

Meanwhile, Dorian frowned. “I never heard of any slave ships coming from Skull’s Bay to Rifthold.”

Renault rolled his eyes. “That would defeat the purpose of secrecy,  _ your highness _ .”

Chaol’s eyes narrowed at the mercenary.  _ Not insubordination, not quite. _

**How could he stoop so disgustingly low? And to tell her she was going to Skull’s Bay for one thing but to really send her here for this . . . She felt her nostrils flare. Sam had known about this deal, but he’d somehow forgotten to mention the truth behind their visit—even during the ten days they’d spent at sea. As soon as she got him alone, she’d make him regret it. But for now . . . she couldn’t let Rolfe catch on to her ignorance.**

**“You’d better not botch this,” Celaena warned the Pirate Lord. “Arobynn won’t be pleased if anything goes awry.”**

Celaena winced. He definitely hadn’t been.

**Rolfe chuckled. “You have my word that it will all go according to plan. I’m not Lord of the Pirates for nothing, you know.”**

**She leaned forward, Flattening her voice into the even tones of a business partner concerned about her investment. “How long, exactly, have you been involved in the slave trade?” It couldn’t have been long. Adarlan had only started capturing and selling slaves two years ago— most of them prisoners of war from whatever territories dared rebel against their conquest. Many of them were from Eyllwe, but there were still prisoners from Melisande and Fenharrow, or the isolated tribe in the White Fang Mountains. The majority of slaves went to Calaculla or Endovier, the continent’s largest and most notorious labor camps, to mine for salt and precious metals…**

_ Crack. Screaming. Crack. Silence. _

_ Emaciated arms swinging a pickaxe too heavy to carry. _

_ Aching bellies and infected lashes. _

_ The stink of death waffing in from the mass graves. _

_ Darkness. _

_ Darkness. _

_ D a r k n e s s… _

“Excuse me,” Celaena pushed her chair out with enough force to send it carrening to the ground. “I need to get some air.”

She practically sprinted across the room to the balcony, ignoring the jeers and taunts of the other champions, and let the railing support her weight.

The crisp night air blew gently past her as she rested her head against the wooden terrace. She squeezed her eyes shut, but all she could see were the mountains that forever haunted her nightmares. There were so many people, so many still trapped beneath the weight of those irons and cowering before the snap of the whip. She’d helped dig the graves before, she knew how often they filled up.

The idea that she would have soon wound up in one of those markless graves if Dorian and Chaol hadn’t freed her sent chills through her body. She should have expected it, in hindsight; none of the slaves who were there when she arrived were still in the mines, but it was different when you looked back on it.

Footsteps gently padded next to her and Celaena could tell that whoever was approaching her wanted her to know he was there.

“Hey,” the fae prince leaned on the railing next to her and looked out towards the mountains in the distance. “Dorian and Chaol are worried about you.”

“Yeah?” Celaena dried her tears. “Well, Prince Rowan, you can tell them to -” she made an obscene gesture.

To her surprise, the prince snorted and turned toward her. “Please, just Rowan. I’m a prince only by name.”

She raised an eyebrow. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going back in there.”

“I know how hard this is for you,” Rowan said. “I know you in the future and I know how much you suffered there. But, this - these books - will save you and your country,” he walked closer to her and bent down to whisper in her ear, “ _ Fireheart _ .”

Celaena stared at him with wide eyes as he walked back inside. He knew her, knew her mother’s nickname for her. A million thoughts whirled around her head and she took a deep breath.

If what Rowan said was to be believed, she would be better off for reading these books. Celaena didn’t know why she believed him, but something about what he said rang true in her heart, something about the way he presented himself made her soul  _ sing _ with familiarity.

If these books were to show her downfall, she’d read them with her friends by her side.

With a deep breath, she rejoined the group inside.

Aelin of the Wildfire may have been dead, Fireheart might have been no more, but Celaena was Elentyia.

And she would not be broken.

With a single glance at her, Telmor picked the book up once again.

**“Believe me,” Rolfe said, crossing his arms, “I have enough experience. You should be more concerned about your master. Investing in the slave trade is a guaranteed profit, but he might need to expend more of his resources than he’d like in order to keep our business from reaching the wrong ears.”**

**Her stomach turned over, but she feigned disinterest as best she could and said, “Arobynn is a shrewd businessman. Whatever you can supply, he’ll make the most of it.”**

Pelor bit his lip. “They’re talking about human lives like they’re cattle. It’s making me sick.”

“He never got the shipment,” Celaena said and despite her red-rimmed eyes, her tone dripped of dark satisfaction.

“How do you know,  _ Lillian _ ?” Nox asked.

“I just do,” she snapped back and leaned back her seat, the matter clearly dropped.

**“For his sake, I hope that’s true. I don’t want to risk my name for nothing.” Rolfe stood, and Celaena and Sam rose with him. “I’ll have the documents signed and returned to you tomorrow. For now . . .” He pointed toward the door. “I have two rooms prepared for you.”**

**“We only need one,” she interrupted…**

Though he wasn’t proud of it - especially not  _ now _ , a low growl built in Rowan’s throat as he imagined her with Sam

Then he saw the three champions laughing and making obscene innuendos and the focus of his ire shifted.

Celaena caught him glaring and raised an eyebrow.

**Beneath her mask, her face burned, and Sam choked on a laugh. “One room,** **_two_ ** **beds.”**

**Rolfe chuckled, striding to the door and opening it for them. “As you wish. I’ll have baths drawn for you as well.” Celaena and Sam followed him out into the narrow, dark hallway. “You could both use one,” he added with a wink.**

Chaol hid a smile at the scowl Celaena tried to hide from the other champions.

**It took all of her self-restraint to keep from punching him below the belt.**

Telmor set the book down amid Pelor’s snickering.

Celaena glanced at the embers burning low in the fireplace. She hadn’t realized how long they had been reading for…

The other champions, as though their exhaustion was just now catching up with them, began shifting in their seats and yawning. Over on his dais, Dorian took off his crown and ran a hand through his hair.

“Return to your rooms,” he said, standing from his throne. “We’ll reconvene tomorrow afternoon after your training with Brullo. I am cancelling all Tests until further notice.”

_ Finally _ , Celaena rolled her eyes. What had Dorian been thinking, waking them up in the middle of the night in the first place?

“Prince Rowan,” Dorian said, “I’ll have a servant show you to your chambers.”

She hardly heard his muffled reply, too far gone in exhaustion to think straight. It was only when she got back to her room that she paused.

Why her, why here, why now? All of these were questions that the books had yet to answer. Still, it was too late at night - early in the morning? - to think definitively about factors that had yet to be revealed. With a sigh, she slipped into her nightgown and relaxed under the quilts of her bed.

She never noticed the hawk that kept vigil on her balcony all night long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided Pelor is, like, twelve and is my child now.


	4. pray for the wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for being late, it was quite a long chapter to write and this pandemic is doing nothing for my mental health so I've been struggling with my anxiety this past week. Anyways, I hope to have the next chapter up soon, but the site I've been using for the book only goes up to chapter three so I'm going to have to start typing it all out by hand from the book, so I don't know how long that'll take.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy the chapter!
> 
> PS: Thank you to everyone who reviewed. Seeing that people enjoy my work always makes me feel better :)

The morning sun shone brilliantly through the windows of the stone castle as Celaena stretched her arms over her head, letting her muscles cool down from her morning run. Chaol insisted she keep her training up despite the indefinite postponement of the Tests, but with the spring flowers finally peaking through the fresh earth and the freezing rains of winter having passed, she welcomed the chance to get out of the castle. With whatever had been stalking the champions, it didn’t feel safe anymore and being cooped up there with her opponents had been stifling. She was just  _ itching _ to throw her disguise away and punch Grave in his crooked nose. Gods knew that he wouldn’t be suspecting it, at least. 

The white undershirt she wore was drenched with sweat and she couldn’t wait to get out of it and into a warm bath to soak her aching limbs. Perhaps Phillipa would have a handful of bath salts at the ready, or at least know where to find them. If Celaena was going to be spending the foreseeable future as the only female in a group of men, she would make damn sure she smelled better than the rest of them. Though, she mused, she probably already did, even in this state. 

“Elentiya.” As Celaena rounded a corner, she very nearly bumped into Nehemia and her guards. The princess also seemed to be taking advantage of the beautiful spring morning and bore the evidence of a morning walk in the scarf draped elegantly across her shoulders. 

“Princess,” Celaena inclined her head, “How was your walk?”

Nehemia gave a small smile. “We are on our way out now. I would have invited you but perhaps, seeing as you are…” she glanced down at Celaena’s sweat-stained clothes and raised an eyebrow, “In a state not fit for a stroll in the gardens, would you instead join me for lunch?”

“Of course. Chaol made me run an extra mile today,” she said by way of explanation, “But I am more than willing to have lunch with you after I’ve bathed. My room, perhaps? Fleetfoot has missed you, I think.”

“I’ll see you then,” Nehemia said and they parted ways.

  
  
  
  


When she had bathed and dressed, Celaena sent Phillipa to the kitchens and reclined on the couch in front of the fire. It might have been spring, but the cold had yet to leave Adarlan and the ancient stones of the castle trapped the freezing air within them. Fleetfoot lay at her feet, curled on the couch with her tail thumping softly. The room smelled of the floral bath essence that she had put in the water and the soft scent of pine that lingered around the branches in the vase beside her bed. She found that it helped her sleep, let her fall into her dreams surrounded by the smell of her home. Some days, she could close her eyes and almost pretend that she was there, in the Oakwald forest, scrambling over rocks and splashing in the streams like she had done when she was very young, before her training had set in--

No, she couldn’t think like that, couldn’t dwell over what might have been. Terrasen had fallen, Aelin of the Wildfire was dead and Celaena was just an assassin, nothing more. 

Which begged the question of why they were reading about her.

Celaena turned her thoughts to the readings. The fae prince, Rowan, knew her, that much she was sure of. She had an inkling that Nox had begun to suspect it, maybe the others as well. That didn’t bode well for her future. She’d killed people, too many to count, and there were countless who had vowed revenge. She’d probably killed several of the other champions’ friends and comrades - especially if they’d been hired to protect someone she was hunting - and once they found out it was her… if Chaol and Dorian found out the things she’d done…. She doubted they would care whether or not the other champions tore her to pieces.

She could take on one of them maybe even two or three, but not all six. Not at the same time and certainly not in the condition she found herself in despite months of a good diet and rigorous training.

Celaena sighed and swirled the water in her mug. Perhaps one day, she’d finally get a break.

  
  
  
  


Lunch with Nehemia was almost over when the knock on the door sounded. The princess paused and set her spoon down daintily in her bowl. Fleetfoot, seeing the opportunity, began poking her nose under Nehemia’s elbow, begging for food. “That’s not one of my guards. They do not knock like that.” Absentmindedly, she reached down and began stroking her fur.

“I’ll see who it is.” Celaena rose from her seat and walked to the door of her bedroom. Nehemia had guards situated both inside and outside her room, but if they had been incapacitated enough for whoever it was to reach her door…

Celaena drew one of her daggers from her boot and yanked the door open quickly, leaving no room for the intruder to catch her by surprise.

There was a yelp and a scramble of feet as a young castle guard jumped backwards in shock. He was nearly as young a Pelor, Celaena mused. 

The sandy-haired boy-guard righted her helmet and snapped to attention, his scrawny knees still shaking. “The Captain ordered me to escort you to the council room.”

Celaena sighed and walked back in her room. Nehemia watched as she strapped her scabbard to her hip and frown. “Where are you going? Lunch is not over.”

“I have to go to this stupid reading in the concil room and I don’t trust anyone there not to attack me.”

Nehemia stood up, suddenly interested. “I’m coming with you,” she decided.

Celaena blinked. “Umm… I don’t know if you can. It seems to be for a select group of people only.”

Nehemia brushed that off. “I am a princess. No one tells me where I may or may not go.”

This was an argument Celaena was  _ not  _ willing to get into at that moment. And besides, having a friend there might just make the whole thing a little more bearable. 

But Nehemia still didn’t know who she was. Not really, anyways. She knew Celaena was an assassin and that she’d spent a long time in Endovier, but she didn’t know who she really was.

“If you’re going to come,” Celaena turned to Nehemia and leaned close to her ear, her voice barely above a whisper. Let those pry castle guards try hearing her now. “There’s a few things I need to tell you.”

  
  
  
  
  


“Where were you?” The moment she entered the counseil room, Chaol grasped her by the arm and dragged her away from Nehemia. A vein in his forehead pulsed and his eyes burned with restrained anger. She’d made him angry. Good.

“I  _ was _ eating lunch, until I was rudely interrupted,” she shot back.

Chaol scowled but couldn’t say anything to that. “Why is she here?” He asked, nodding toward Nehemia.

Celaena shrugged. “When she heard I was going, she wanted to come. She’s a princess, I can’t deny her.”

“She’s not on the list,” Chaol growled, but before he could say anything more, a voice spoke up behind them, a low purr that put her on edge.

“Princess Nehemia is more than welcome to join us,” Rowan said, baring his teeth slightly as though he was daring Chaol to challenge him. 

Rowan didn’t seem to like Chaol very much.

_ Interesting. _

“Of course, prince. I never meant to usurp your authority,” Chaol said and let go of Celaena’s arm. “But we’ve delayed enough already and should get back to the reading.”

Rowan gave a smile that was more of a smirk than a grin and made his way to the table, his footfall so light she couldn’t hear them.

“Come,” Nehemia grabbed her hand and saved her from Chaol’s disappointing glare. “Show me where the best seats are.”

  
  
  
  
  


Dorian drummed his fingers against the arm of his throne. “If you are all done dawdling,” he drawled, “Someone can start reading.”

At first, the champions just sat in silence, looking around at each other. The fire in the ornate fireplace crackled and popped in the absence of voices. Cain eyed Nehemia, a scowl pulling at the corners of his mouth. Finally, Nox reached across the table. “I’ll take this chapter, I guess.” 

**It took them five minutes to search the cramped room for any spy-holes or signs of danger; five minutes for them to lift the framed paintings on the wood-paneled walls, tap at the floorboards, seal the gap between the door and the floor, and cover the window with Sam’s weatherworn cloak.**

**When she was certain that no one could either hear or see her, Celaena ripped off her hood, untied the mask, and whirled to face him.**

“Oooh,” Grave crooned, leering at the book, “Are we going to find out what she looks like?”

Rowan had to swallow the growl rising in his throat. Even if Celaena wasn’t his mate or his wife yet, the way Grave spoke about her - and women in general - made him swear that he was going to make the assassin regret every lewd thought he’d ever had. 

**Sam, seated on his small bed—which seemed more like a cot— raised his palms to her. “Before you bite my head off,” he said, keeping his voice quiet just in case, “let me say that I went into that meeting knowing as little as you.”**

Nehemia turned to Celaena and whispered in Eyllwe, “What’s happening?”

“Basically, this is the year before I went to Endovier,” Celaena whispered back in kind, taking careful caution to block her lips from the view of the rest of the table. “Right now, my - my friend Sam,” a lump rose in her throat, “and I are dealing with the Pirate Lord Rolfe about a deal between him and my master, Arobynn Hamel. We didn’t find out until the meeting that they were trading slaves to him.” The words tasted like bile and made her stomach churn. That had been her a few months ago and she should have known that Arobynn wouldn’t have tried to break her out of Endovier. She’d seen the disregard he’d had for the slaves at Skulls Bay, so why should a compromised assassin be any different?

Nehemia’s brows furrowed. “You were involved in the slave trade?”

Celaena could sense Nehemia shifting away from her and quickly added, “No no no, we freed them.”

Something seemed to be lifted off the princesses chest as she sighed and gave her friend a small smile. “Thank you.”

**She glared at him, savoring the fresh air on her sticky, sweaty face. “Oh, really?”**

**“You’re not the only one who can improvise.” Sam kicked off his boots and hoisted himself farther onto the bed. “That man’s as much in love with himself as you are; the last thing we need is for him to know that he had the upper hand in there.”**

Her gut rolled at the reminder of the arrogant, naive girl she’d been and how that worldview had been crushed beneath the fists of Farran’s guards and the weight of the pickaxe she’d driven into her overseer's gut.

**Celaena dug her nails into her palms. “Why would Arobynn send us here without telling us the true reason? …**

**“He was not lying about the content of the letter, Celaena,” Sam said...**

**She grumbled a slew of nasty words and paced, her black boots clunking against the uneven floorboards. Pirate Lord indeed.** **_This_ ** **was the best room he could offer them? She was Adarlan’s Assassin, the right arm of Arobynn Hamel—not some backstreet harlot!**

Grave snickered something to Renault and elbowed him in laughter. Renault, for his credit, only gave a half-hearted laugh as he sweated under the weight of Rowan’s glare.

**...“Slaves,” she spat, dragging a hand through her braided hair. Her fingers caught in the plait. “What business does Arobynn have getting involved in the slave trade?**

**... If Ben were alive, he wouldn’t have stood for it. Ben would have been as disgusted as she was. Being hired to kill corrupt government offcials was one thing, but taking prisoners of war, brutalizing them until they stopped fighting back, and sentencing them to a lifetime of slavery . . .**

Dorian swallowed thickly. There were many things he didn’t agree with his father on, and this was one of them. So many prisoners of war and innocent citizens were going to the mines in Endovier and Calaculla that they were beginning to become overcrowded. There was even talk amongst his father’s council of ways to rid themselves of the excess slaves.

He just didn’t understand why the people couldn’t be left alone to live their lives in peace. Whenever he looked at Celaena, he couldn’t help but see the scars on her back and the rawness of her wrists when they’d first removed the manacles. He was the son of a king, the prince of an empire, it was his duty to protect his people.

But he was at loss on how to save them from his country’s imperialism.

“Dorian?” Chaol leaned over and studied his face with concern. “Is everything alright?”

“Of course,” Dorian replied, the hint of a smile tugging at his face. Chaol might have been his best friend, but he mothered him more than his own mother did.

**Sam opened an eye. “Are you going to take a bath, or can I go first?”**

**She hurled her cloak at him. He caught it with a single hand and tossed it to the ground. She said, “I’m going first.”**

Rowan rolled his eyes. “Of course you are,” he muttered under his breath.

**...She shot him a dirty look and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.**

  
  


Nox blinked. “It looks like there’s a time skip here, guys.”

**Of all the dinners she’d ever attended, this was by far the worst. Not because of the company—which was, she grudgingly admitted, somewhat interesting—and not because of the food, which looked and smelled wonderful, but simply because she couldn’t** **_eat_ ** **anything, thanks to that confounded mask.**

Celaena winced. That had been one of the parts she’d hated most about the mask.

**Sam seemed to take second helpings of everything solely to mock her. Celaena, seated at Rolfe’s left, half-hoped the food was poisoned.**

Dorian raised an eyebrow. Didn’t Celaena say that she had once liked Sam? If that was her version of romance, he was slightly scared for his future.

“No honor amongst thieves,” Grave snorted.

Nox set down the book. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Grave smirked, crossing his arms.

Before they could get into a fight Celaena spoke, “Maybe it should be ‘no honour amongst assassin’s, Grave,’ seeing as that’s what they are.”

Grave flushed. “Like you would know anything about honour. You’re fucking the-”

Before he could finish that sentence (and before Chaol was out of his seat), Pelor piped up. “Hey! I like to think I have plenty of honor.”

Everyone stopped talking to stare at him incredulously. Nox made a face, “Kid, you poison people for a living.”

“Well, yeah, but-”

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we please just continue?”

Nehemia looked like she was two seconds from setting her guards on Grave.

**“Mistress Sardothien,” Rolfe said, his dark brows rising high on his forehead. “You must be famished. Or is my food not pleasing enough for your refined palate?”**

**...“I’m quite fine,” she lied, swirling the water in her goblet. It lapped against the sides, taunting her with each rotation. Celaena stopped.**

**“Maybe if you took oI your mask, you might have an easier time eating,” Rolfe said, taking a bite of roasted duck. “Unless what lies beneath it will make us lose our appetites.” the five other pirates—all captains in Rolfe’s fleet—sniggered.**

**“Keep talking like that”—Celaena gripped the stem of her goblet—“and I might give you a reason to wear a mask.” Sam kicked her under the table, and she kicked him back, a deft blow to his shins— hard enough that he choked on his water.**

This time it was Rowan who raised an eyebrow. He’d always assumed that Celaena and Sam had gotten along, but this was making him rethink what he knew about her time as Adarlan’s Assassin. Nothing she’d done - or will do - would make him love her any less, but he hoped the books would fill in some of the missing gaps in the timeline.

**Some of the assembled captains stopped laughing, but Rolfe chuckled. She rested her gloved hand atop the stained dining table. The table was freckled with burns and deep gouges; it had clearly seen its fair share of brawls. Didn’t Rolfe have any taste for luxury? Perhaps he wasn’t so well off, if he was resorting to the slave trade. But Arobynn . . . Arobynn was as rich as the King of Adarlan himself.**

Dorian stopped drumming his fingers on the armrest. “Is he, now?”

_ Fuck _ . Celaena had to stop herself from slamming her head into the table. Arobynn was going to  _ kill _ her.

**Rolfe flicked his sea-green eyes to Sam, who was frowning yet again. “Have you seen her without the mask?”**

**Sam, to her surprise, grimaced. “Once.” He gave her an all too believably wary look. “And that was enough.”**

“What? Why?” Grave cackled, “Is the bitch ugly?”

He opened his mouth to launch another quip about her, but stopped with a yelp when a knife slammed into the chair right beside his ear. Grave sat there, frozen, as the knife quivered from where it was embedded in the solid oak and a small trickle of blood ran from where it had nicked the top of his ear.

Rowan was half out of his seat, teeth bared and hand brushing against the hilt of another knife on his sword belt. 

All the guards had their swords drawn and pointed toward the fae, but they wouldn’t move on a foreign diplomat without an order from either their Captain or their prince.

Dorian just rolled his eyes. “Please, Prince Rowan,” he drawled. “Refrain from throwing knives into my furniture in the future. It's an antique set.”

Grave gaped. “But-but-but he -”

Dorian ignored his protesting. 

“Prince Dorian said I couldn’t throw any more knives at the chair,” Rowan growled as he rose from his seat to retrieve the dagger from its place beside Grave’s head. “But he said nothing about burying them in your neck. And trust me,” Rowan leaned down and with one solid move, yanked the knife out from where it was buried several inches into solid wood. “I won’t hesitate.”

When he returned to his seat, Celaena leaned over and gave him a wicked grin. “I think you might be my new hero. I’ve been itching to do that since I met him. ”

Rowan grinned back in return. “Well then, the next throw can be yours.”

**Rolfe studied Sam for a heartbeat, then took another bite of his meat. “Well, if you won’t show me your face, then perhaps you’ll indulge us with the tale of how, exactly, you became protégée to Arobynn Hamel?”**

**“I trained,” she said dully. “For years. We aren’t all lucky enough to have a magic map inked on our hands. Some of us had to climb to the top.”**

Renault looked like he wanted to comment, but one glance at a petrified Grave had him snapping his mouth shut.

**Rolfe stiffened, and the other pirates halted their eating. He stared at her long enough for Celaena to want to squirm, and then set down his fork.**

**Sam leaned a bit closer to her, but, she realized, only to see better as Rolfe laid both of his hands palm up on the table.**

**Together, his hands formed a map of their continent—and only that.**

**“This map hasn’t moved for eight years.” His voice was a low growl. A chill went down her spine. Eight years. Exactly the time that had passed since the Fae had been banished and executed, when Adarlan had conquered and enslaved the rest of the continent and magic had disappeared.**

Something curled in Celaena’s gut as she remembered what she had once been. An abyss, rumbling lowly but trapped beneath impenetrable webs of shame and fear. 

Nehemia grabbed her hand. “I understand,” she murmured. “From the child of one conquered country to another.” But she wasn’t looking at Celaena’s face. Instead her eyes were trained on the assassin’s forehead as though something was there only she could see.

Rowan crossed his arms and clenched his jaw. He could feel the eyes of the room on his ears and the tattoo in the Old Language that swirled around the right side of his body. There were so few fae left, now. The vast majority of those who’d lived in Adarlan’s empire had been caught and executed, defenseless without their magic. He hadn’t cared back then, but now he wished he had done more to help those trying to escape the continent. 

**“Don’t think,” Rolfe continued, withdrawing his hands, “that I haven’t had to claw and kill my way as much as you.”**

**If he was nearly thirty, then he’d probably done even more killing than she had. And, from the many scars on his hands and face, it was easy to tell that he’d done a** **_lot_ ** **of clawing.**

**“Good to know we’re kindred spirits,” she said. If Rolfe was already used to getting his hands dirty, then trading slaves wasn’t a stretch. But he was a filthy pirate. They were Arobynn Hamel’s assassins—educated, wealthy, refined. Slavery was beneath them.**

Celaena looked down at her hands in disgust. The scars from the manacles were still red and puckered, signs of the many infections they’d weathered and the way the chains had rubbed them raw. Apparently, slavery was not beneath her.

Pelor frowned. “Then why is she going through with the trade?”

“Because, idiot,” Renault growled, “She can’t do anything else. Arobynn still owns her and she has to obey him until she can buy her freedom.”

That analogy made Chaol sick to his stomach. He’d never thought about it like that before, but Celaena hadn’t been free for a long time before Endovier. If her story had been true, she’d been training with Arobynn for ten years, since she was a little girl. Then, she was in the mines for a year and even if she won the competition, it would be another four years.

The realization hit Chaol like a punch to the gut.  _ She’d been a slave in one form or another for longer than she’s ever lived in freedom _ .  _ More than half her life had been spent shackled to one master or another and now she would have to serve the man who conquered her country. _

He couldn’t meet Celaena’s questioning gaze.

**Rolfe gave her that crooked smile. “Do you act like this because it’s actually in your nature, or is it just because you’re afraid of dealing with people?”**

**“I’m the world’s greatest assassin.” She lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid of anyone.”**

Cain snorted. “Cocky. Too arrogant. It’s going to get her killed.”

Grave, though still rattled by Rowan’s knife throwing demonstration, gave a shaky smirk. “I bet you that’s how she got captured.”

While the other champions debated how Celaena Sardothien had wound up in the Salt Mines of Endovier, Nox glanced over at her, but Celaena couldn’t meet his eyes. She clenched the soft leather of her pants to stop her hands from shaking. 

She feared many things now.  _ Whips, darkness, Gloriella, the King of Adarlan. _

She didn’t know what that said about her.

**“Really?” Rolfe asked. “Because I’m the world’s greatest pirate, and I’m afraid of a great number of people. That’s how I’ve managed to stay alive for so long.”...“I’m surprised Arobynn hasn’t made you check your arrogance,” Rolfe said...**

Oh, her arrogance had been checked, all right. Every day for more than a year under the cold eyes of the guards in Endovier.

**Sam coughed loudly and leaned forward. “How did you become Pirate Lord, then?”**

**Rolfe ran a finger along a deep groove in the wooden table. “I killed every pirate who was better than me.” The three other captains—all older, all more weathered and far less attractive than him—huffed, but didn’t refute it. “Anyone arrogant enough to think they couldn’t possibly lose to a young man with a patchwork crew and only one ship to his name. But they all fell, one by one. When you get a reputation like that, people tend to flock to you.”**

Rowan hid a fond smile. Rolfe and Aelin were more alike than either of them would ever admit. He suspected that’s why they fought so much.

**Rolfe glanced between Celaena and Sam. “You want my advice?” he asked her.**

**“No.”**

**“I’d watch your back around Sam. You might be the best, Sardothien, but there’s always someone waiting for you to slip.”**

Nehemia tightened her grip on Celaena’s hand, but Celaena wasn’t paying attention. If that were true, it could have been any number of people who led to her capture that night.

She’d had a year to dwell on it between swings of the pickaxe and she’d begun to form a list. Too many assassins at the Guild would benefit from her capture, but less had the guts to go through with it.

Of course, there was that traitorous thought niggling at the back of her mind, a thought that she couldn’t bear facing or else she feared she might shattered completely.

**Sam, the traitorous bastard, didn’t hide his smirk. The other pirate captains chuckled.**

**Celaena stared hard at Rolfe… “You want** **_my_ ** **advice?”**

**He waved a hand, beckoning her to go on.**

**“Mind your own business.”**

**Rolfe gave her a lazy smile.**

“It, uh, another time skip,” Nox said as he flipped the page.

**“I don’t mind Rolfe,” Sam mused later into the pitch darkness of their room. Celaena, who’d taken first watch, glared toward where his bed lay against the far wall.**

**“Of course you don’t,” she grumbled, relishing the free air on her face... “He told you to assassinate me.”**

**Sam chuckled. “It is wise advice.”**

“What would happen if she was assassinated?” Pelor asked, picking at a thread on his tunic.

The other champions shrugged. They didn’t know.

“Most likely either the person who killed her or Arobynn’s third-in-command would rise to take her place,” Telmor said. He’d been quiet for most of the reading, just taking everything in. He was soft-spoken and friendly enough. Celaena wondered how he’d ended up in this hell-hole of a tournament.

**She rolled up the sleeves of her tunic. Even at night, this rotten place was scorching hot. “Perhaps it isn’t a wise idea for you to go to sleep, then.”**

**Sam’s mattress groaned as he turned over. “Come on—you can’t take a bit of teasing?”**

**“Where my life is concerned? No.”**

**Sam snorted. “Believe me, if I came home without you, Arobynn would skin me alive. Literally. If I’m going to kill you, Celaena, it’ll be when I can actually get away with it.”**

Despite it all, Celaena gave the smallest of smirks. Sam could never best her in any form of combat - he’d never be able to kill her without her getting to him first.

Of course, her smile dimmed, that wouldn’t be happening anymore.

**She scowled. “I appreciate that.” She fanned her sweating face with a hand. She’d sell her soul to a pack of demons for a cool breeze right now, but they had to keep the window covered—unless she wanted some spying pair of eyes to discover what she looked like. Though, now that she thought about it, she’d love to see the look on Rolfe’s face if he found out the truth. Most already knew that she was a young woman, but if he knew he was dealing with a sixteen-year-old, his pride might never recover.**

All the snickered and quiet whispering in the council room stopped as they all silently remembered that Adarlan’s Assassin was only a girl.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to get past that for a while,” Dorian rubbed his forehead. “We’d been bested by a child.”

“In your defense, Your Highness,” Celaena grinned cheekily at Dorian on the throne, “You and the Captain were also children for much of her reign.”

Chaol scowled at her, as if he didn’t want to be reminded that both he and Dorian had stopped being children for the latter half of her reign of terror over the country.

**They’d only be here for three nights; they could both go without a little sleep if it meant keeping her identity—and their lives—safe.**

**“Celaena?” Sam asked into the dark. “Should I worry about going to sleep?”**

Pelor blinked, “With her in the room, I would.”

**She blinked, then laughed under her breath. At least Sam took her threats somewhat seriously. She wished she could say the same for Rolfe. “No,” she said. “Not tonight.”**

**“Some other night, then,” he mumbled. Within minutes, he was out.**

**Celaena rested her head against the wooden wall, listening to the sound of his breathing as the long hours of the night stretched by.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I was reading up on Nehemia and I'm pretty sure she hasn't given Celaena the name 'Elentiya' yet, but whatever. In my timeline she has.
> 
> I warned you all about my memory and how awful it is at continuity...


	5. history won't care at all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to risingfromtheashes for the link to a website with all the books on it!
> 
> Edit: The spacing was a bit wonky when I first posted it so I had to edit it.

Nox set the book down and there was barely a moment to process the chapter before Dorian suddenly sat up in his throne, a smirk revealing pearly teeth. “Grave!” He announced, “You can read the next chapter!”

Grave spluttered but his protests died suddenly when Rowan pushed the book toward him, the fragile paper gliding easily along the polished wood. 

“Read it,” the prince said with a harsh bite to his tone. Celaena would _not_ want to be on the other side of that glare. “Since you seem so _invested_ in the life of this girl.”

Nehemia squeezed her hand but Celaena couldn’t help but let her gaze drift to the candle clock on the mantel above the fireplace, hoping that by some miracle, the flame would have burned significantly lower than it had been minutes before. No such luck.

She _hated_ this, hated the memories it dragged up from the dark caverns of her mind, hated the way it reminded her of the arrogant girl she’d once been and the price she’d paid for it, hated the way that the books proved that she could never be left alone. Somewhere, somehow, someone was playing a game - a cruel game, but one nevertheless. It was as if her life was nothing more than a joke to them, to these unholy gods or beings of darkness or whatever they were that controlled the fates. If what Rowan said was true, the destiny, the life she’d been running from for more than ten years was going to come crashing back into her life in a catastrophic way. She’d traded the crowns and the elaborate ball gowns and the stuffy court lords for blades and blood money and the darkness of the night. But even though the girl she’d once been was dead, had died in that river so many years ago, she could never escape the blood on the sheets that night as she laid between her parents’ bodies -

“Celaena?” Nehemia said, gripping her hand tighter. “Is everything all right?”

She took a deep breath to soothe her nerves and turned to the princess with a smile. “I’m fine. Just ready for this to all be over, that’s all.”

Nehemia hummed, clearly not believing her, but didn’t say anything else.

Grave, meanwhile, was sulking as he flipped the pages to find the right chapter. “Next time fold them, idiot.”

“We will not be folding the page corners, Grave,” Dorian said, shifting back to lounge on his throne once more. “Just deal with it.”

With one last glare that had Chaol scowling at him, Grave found the right page and began the chapter.

**Even when her turn to sleep came, Celaena lay awake. In the hours she’d spent watching over their room, one thought had become increasingly problematic.**

“Is she talking about the slave trade?” Pelor piped up in a small voice, quickly ducking his head with a squeak when Grave glared at him.

**...Perhaps if Arobynn had sent someone else—perhaps if it was just a business deal that she found out about later, when she was too busy to care—she might not have been so bothered by it. But to send her to retrieve a shipment of slaves … people who had done nothing wrong, only dared to fight for their freedom and the safety of their families …**

Celaena could feel the burning gazes of Nehemia and her guards on her back and she stared straight ahead, unblinking and refusing to crack one bit. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Chaol shift to glance at her before swallowing roughly.

**...She sweated so much that her sheets became damp, and slept so little that when dawn came, she felt like she’d been trampled by a herd of wild horses from the Eyllwe grasslands.**

**Sam finally nudged her—a none-too-gentle prodding with the pommel of his sword. He took one look at her and said, “You look horrible.”**

Rowan snorted under his breath and crossed his arms with an amused smile.

**Deciding to let that set the tone for the day, Celaena got out of bed and promptly slammed the bathroom door.**

**When she emerged a while later, as fresh as she could get using only the washbasin and her hands, she understood one thing with perfect clarity.**

**There was no way—no way in any realm of Hell—that she was going to bring those slaves to Rifthold.**

Telmor sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I’ve heard of Arobynn Hamel,” he said by way of explanation, “And I’ve heard of what happens to those who cross him.”

Celaena clenched her jaw, remembering the pain of Arobynn’s punishment and how her face and ribs had been messed up for over a month.

**...That meant she had two days to figure out how to ruin Arobynn and Rolfe’s deal.**

**And find a way to come out of it alive.**

“You don’t think he’ll kill her, do you?” Pelor asked timidly.

Cain glared at him. “You fucking idiot, she was sent to the mines. Of course he didn’t kill her.”

Celaena rolled her eyes at the boy. He was way too soft-hearted to be an assassin. She wondered how he’d ended up as one in the first place, but it likely wasn’t a happy story.

**She slung her cape over her shoulders...**

**“Where are you going?” Sam asked. He sat up from where he lounged on the bed, cleaning his nails with the tip of a dagger. Sam definitely wouldn’t help her. She’d have to find a way to get out of the deal on her own.**

**“I have some questions to ask Rolfe. Alone.” She fastened her mask and strode to the door. “I want breakfast waiting for me when I return.”**

**Sam went rigid, his lips forming a thin line. “What?”**

**Celaena pointed to the hallway, toward the kitchen. “Breakfast,” she said slowly. “I’m hungry.”**

**Sam opened his mouth, and she waited for the retort, but it never came. He bowed deeply. “As you wish,” he said. They swapped particularly vulgar gestures before she stalked down the hallway.**

Rowan sighed. That much of her hadn’t changed in Endovier.

**Dodging puddles of filth, vomit, and the gods knew what else, Celaena found it just a tad difficult to match Rolfe’s long stride. With rain clouds gathering overhead, many of the people in the street—raggedy pirates swaying where they stood, prostitutes stumbling past after a long night, barefoot orphans running amok—had begun migrating into the various ramshackle buildings.**

Dorian looked beyond offended. Skulls Bay might not have fallen under Adarlan’s rule, but they were right next to each other, for the gods’ sake. How hard was it to create a civilized society?

Chaol glanced at Dorian’s expression and grimaced. He knew Dorian hadn’t been to the rougher parts of Rifthold but he didn’t think that Dorian didn’t know what his own capital city looked like. He’d seen it, back when he was a young guard, the roughness of the streets, the bodies of the dead and the dying huddled in groups in alleyways, the brutality of the thugs and the brutes that ran the underground. And yes, he’d seen on more than one occasion Celaena’s handiwork. Oftentimes it was brutal and bloody and horrifying. Of course, she never left a calling card, but word always circled around in the following days about who’d done it. 

If Dorian didn’t realize that life beyond the castle was much, much worse than the things they’d seen on their trip to and from the Salt Mines, Chaol would have to take it upon himself to show his friend. Dorian couldn’t become a king without seeing the worst he’d have to rule over.

**Skull’s Bay wasn’t known as a beautiful city, and many of the leaning and sagging buildings seemed to have been constructed from little more than wood and nails. Aside from its denizens, the city was most famous for Ship-Breaker, the giant chain that hung across the mouth of the horseshoe-shaped bay.**

**It had been around for centuries, and was so large that, as its name implied, it could snap the mast of any ship that came up against it. While mostly designed to discourage any attacks, it also kept anyone from sneaking off. And given that the rest of the island was covered with towering mountains, there weren’t many other places for a ship to safely dock. So, any ship that wanted to enter or exit the harbor had to wait for it to be lowered under the surface—and be ready to pay a hefty fee.**

“So she can’t flee even if she wanted to,” Nox surmised. 

To his surprise, Celaena nodded. Then she realized everyone was staring at her and quickly added, “My father made the occasional trip to the Dead Islands on his merchant voyages. I went with him a handful of times when I was younger.”

“Before he caught you stealing jewels?” Pelor asked.

Celaena grinned slightly. “Yes, he was not in the mood to take me sailing after that.”

**“You have three blocks,” Rolfe said. “Better make them count.”**

**Was he deliberately walking fast? Steadying her rising temper, Celaena focused on the jagged, lush mountains hovering around the city, on the glittering curve of the bay, on the hint of sweetness in the air...**

**“When the slaves arrive,” she asked, trying to sound as inconvenienced as possible, “will I get the chance to inspect them, or can I trust that you’re giving us a good batch?”**

**He shook his head at her impertinence, and Celaena jumped over the outstretched legs of an unconscious—or dead—drunk in her path. “They’ll arrive tomorrow afternoon. I was planning to inspect them myself, but if you’re so worried about the quality of your wares, I’ll allow you to join me. Consider it a privilege.”**

The way he spoke about the slaves made Celaena sick. _Wares_. Like human beings could be considered objects.

She felt Nehemia’s whole body tense. The princess twisted a golden bangle on her wrist and pretended to be focused fully on the book, but Celaena could see the rage simmering inside her friend’s body.

**She snorted. “Where? On your ship?” Better to get a good sense of how everything worked, and then build her plan from there. Just knowing how things operated might create some ideas for how to make the deal fall apart with as little risk to herself as possible.**

**“I’ve converted a large stable at the other end of the town into a holding facility. I usually examine all the slaves there, but since you’re leaving the next morning, we’ll just examine yours on the ship itself.”**

**She clicked her tongue loudly enough for him to hear it. “And how long can I expect this to take?”**

“Impatient, arrogant bitch,” Cain growled. Grave looked like he wanted to agree but he didn’t want to have to read another chapter.

“I could say the same for you,” Rowan leaned forward again and this time the sunlight was angled just enough that Celaena caught a glimpse of something predatory in his eyes. They flashed with a hint of amber and the feral joy of the hunt.

The fae was dangerous, even more so than Celaena had originally thought.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Cain gnashed his teeth.

“No, I don’t know you,” Rowan responded, calm and calculating, “But I know _of_ you.”

Cain might not have understood it yet, Celaena realized, but his days were numbered.

**He raised an eyebrow. “You have better things to do?”**

**“Just answer the question.” Thunder rumbled in the distance.**

**They reached the docks, which were by far the most impressive thing about the town. Ships of all shapes and sizes rocked against the wooden piers, and pirates scurried along the decks, tying down various things before the storm hit. On the horizon, lightning flashed just above the lone watchtower perched along the northern entrance to the bay—the watchtower from which Ship-Breaker was raised and lowered. In the flash, she’d also seen the two catapults atop one of the tower landings. If Ship-Breaker didn’t destroy a boat, then those catapults finished the job.**

“So they really can’t run.” Pelor’s eyes were wide and he was listening with such attention that Chaol actually wondered if he remembered that the events in the book were real.

**“Don’t worry, Mistress Sardothien,” Rolfe said, striding past the various taverns and inns that lined the docks. They had two blocks left. “Your time won’t be wasted. Though getting through a hundred slaves will take a while.”**

**A hundred slaves on one ship! Where did they all fit?**

Nehemia looked like she was trying really hard not to slap the younger version of Celaena for her ignorance.

Celaena felt sick.

**“As long as you don’t try to fool me,” she snapped, “I’ll consider it time well spent.”**

**“Just so you don’t find reasons to complain—and I’m sure you’ll try your best to do just that—I have another shipment of slaves being inspected at the holding facility tonight. Why don’t you join me? That way, you can have something to compare them to tomorrow.”**

**That would be perfect, actually. Perhaps she could just claim the slaves weren’t up to par and refuse to do business with him because of it. And then leave, no harm done to either of them. She’d still have to face Sam—and then Arobynn—but … she’d figure them out later.**

“Would that work?” Nox asked.

No one bothered to respond.

**She shrugged, waving a hand. “Fine, fine. Just send someone for me when it’s time.” The humidity was so thick she felt as if she were swimming through it. “And after Arobynn’s slaves are inspected?” Any bit of information could later be used as a weapon against him. “Are they mine to look after on the ship, or will your men be watching them for me? Your pirates might very well think they’re free to take whatever slaves they wish.”**

**Rolfe clenched the hilt of his sword. It glinted in the muted light, and she admired the intricate pommel, shaped like a sea dragon’s head. “If I give the order that no one is to touch your slaves, then no one will touch them,” Rolfe said through his teeth. His annoyance was an unexpected delight.**

Chaol pinched the bridge of his nose. If this is what entertained Celaena, he was going to have a long five years ahead of him. He resolved to make sure she never got anywhere near visiting nobles and statesmen.

**“However, I’ll arrange to have a few guards on the ship, if that will make you sleep easier. I wouldn’t want Arobynn to think I don’t take his investment seriously.”**

**They approached a blue-painted tavern, where several men in dark tunics lounged out front...**

**“That will be fine,” she said crisply. “I don’t want to be here any longer than necessary.”**

**“I’m sure you’re eager to return to your clients in Rifthold.” Rolfe stopped in front of the faded door. The sign above it, swinging in the growing storm winds, said** **_The Sea Dragon_** **. It was also the name of his famed ship, which was docked just behind them, and really didn’t look all that spectacular, anyway.**

_It was more than just that_ , Rowan thought, _a living legend no longer just a legend, the herald of the return of the Mycenian people._

**Perhaps this was the Pirate Lord’s headquarters. And if he was making her and Sam stay at that tavern a few blocks away, then perhaps he trusted them as little as they trusted him.**

Renault snorted. “Why would anyone trust two assassins?”

Celaena wanted to retort, but the mercenary had a point.

**“I think I’m more eager just to return to civilized society,” she said sweetly.**

**Rolfe let out a low growl, and stepped onto the threshold of the tavern...**

**“One day,” Rolfe said, too quietly, “someone’s really going make you pay for that arrogance.” Lightning made his green eyes flicker. “I just hope I’m there to see it.”**

Nox swallowed roughly and glanced at Celaena before quickly flicking his eyes back to the book in Grave’s hands. “From what I’ve heard,” he said quietly, “She did pay.”

Grave snorted but said nothing else.

Celaena inhaled shakily and closed her eyes.

_The bumps of rocks and twigs beneath the carriage wheels._

_It was so dark._

_The phantom aches of manacles around her wrists and ankles._

_The breeze that followed her into the mines, blowing away the ashes of the princess of Terrasen, battering against her form until Adarlan’s Assassin crumbled with it. She would go into the mines as Celaena Sardothien, a girl who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and paid the price for it years later._

_It would be months before she saw the sun again._

Nehemia pulled her hand into her lap and squeezed it. Celaena opened her eyes and breathed out. The mines hadn’t broken her; they’d forged her anew. 

“My name is Celaena Sardothien,” she murmured under her breath, so low that she wasn’t even sure that Rowan with his fae ears could hear her, “And I will not be afraid.”

**He shut the tavern door in her face.**

**Celaena smiled, and her smile grew wider as fat drops of rain splattered on the rust-colored earth, instantly cooling the muggy air.**

**That had gone surprisingly well.**

**“Is it poisoned?” she asked Sam, plopping down on her bed just as a clap of thunder shook the tavern to its foundations. The teacup rattled in its saucer, and she breathed in the smell of fresh-baked bread, sausage, and porridge as she threw back her hood and removed her mask.**

**“By them, or by me?” Sam was sitting on the floor, his back against the bed.**

**Just to needle him, Celaena sniffed all of her food. “Do I detect … belladonna?”**

**Sam gave her a flat stare, and Celaena smirked as she tore a bite from the bread.**

“By the gods she has a morbid sense of humor,” Pelor shook his head. ‘Belladonna isn’t anything to joke about. The effects are-”

Grave cut him off quickly.

**...“So,” Sam said as she drank her tea. “Are you going to tell me what you’re planning, or should I warn Rolfe to expect the worst?”**

**She sipped daintily at her tea. “I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Sam Cortland.”**

**“What sort of ‘questions’ did you ask him?”**

**She set down her teacup. Rain lashed the shutters, muffling the clink of her cup against the saucer. “Polite ones.”**

**“Oh? I didn’t think you knew what polite meant.”**

Celaena let out a quiet but offended _harumph_.

**“I can be polite when it pleases me.”**

Dorian leaned over to Chaol. “And we have yet to see it,” he snickered.

Chaol just rolled his eyes and shushed him.

**“When it gets you what you want, you mean. So what is it you want from Rolfe?”**

**She studied her companion. He certainly didn’t seem to have any moral qualms about the deal. While he might not trust Rolfe, it didn’t bother him that a hundred innocent souls were about to be traded like cattle.**

“You’re assassins,” Cain drawled, picking at the skin around his fingernails. “Get used to it.”

Telmor shifted toward the other soldier. “She’s also a child,” he reminded him quietly, “She still has an idealistic view of the world.”

Celaena narrowed her eyes. She was not a child and had not been for a very long time, and if a world where people no longer lived in bondage was considered ‘idealistic,’ she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t be tempted just to let the monster in the castle destroy everything and let the gods start over.

**“I wanted to ask him more about the map on his hands.”**

**“Damn it, Celaena!” Sam slammed his fist onto the wooden floor. “Tell me the truth!”**

**“Why?” she asked, giving him a pout. “And how do you know I’m not telling the truth?”**

**Sam got to his feet and began pacing the length of their small room. He undid the top button of his black tunic, revealing the skin beneath. Something about it felt strangely intimate, and Celaena found herself quickly looking away from him.**

Rowan clenched the armrests of his chair. _She’s not mine yet_ , he had to remind himself _, and I’m not hers. She never held Lyria over me and I should never blame her for Sam._

**“We’ve grown up together.” Sam stopped at the foot of her bed. “You think I don’t know how to tell when you’re cooking up some scheme? What do you want from Rolfe?”**

**If she told him, he’d do everything in his power to keep her from ruining the deal. And having one enemy was enough. With her plan still unformed, she had to keep Sam out of it. Besides, if worse came to worst, Rolfe might very well kill Sam for being involved. Or just for knowing her.**

**“Maybe I’m just unable to resist how handsome he is,” she said.**

**Sam went rigid. “He’s twelve years older than you.”**

Rowan had to hide a smirk. And he was three hundred, so what?

**“So?” He didn’t think she was serious, did he?**

“I mean, you did describe him as handsome…” Pelor trailed off and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Nox looked at him funnily. “Kid, most people don’t fall in love at first sight. They lie to you in the books.”

“Oh.” Pelor’s ears went very red.

**He gave her a look so scathing it could have turned her to ash and stalked to the window, ripping his cloak down from the shutters.**

**“What are you doing?”**

**He flung open the wooden shutters on a sky full of rain and forked lightning. “I’m sick of suffocating. And if you’re interested in Rolfe, he’s bound to find out what you look like at some point, isn’t he? So why bother slowly roasting to death?”**

**“Shut the window.” He only crossed his arms. “Shut it,” she growled.**

Renault chuckled. “You can’t make him do anything, girl.”

“It’s for her protection!” Chaol seethed and ignored the clenching in his chest when he thought about how she might have been discovered and captured.

**When he made no move to close the window, she jumped to her feet, upsetting the tray of food on her mattress, and shoved him aside hard enough for him to take a step back. Keeping her head down, she shut the window and shutters and threw his cape over the whole thing.**

**“Idiot,” she seethed. “What’s gotten into you?”**

He was jealous, Dorian realized. Celaena had said that she’d been in love with Sam, but she never indicated that he’d been in love with her before she’d even realized it.

**Sam stepped closer, his breath hot on her face. “I’m tired of all the melodrama and nonsense that happens whenever you wear that ridiculous mask and cloak. And I’m even more tired of you ordering me around.”**

**So that’s what this was about. “Get used to it.”**

**She made to turn to her bed, but he grabbed her wrist. “Whatever plan you’re concocting, whatever bit of intrigue you’re about to drag me into, just remember that you’re not head of the Assassins’ Guild yet; you still answer to Arobynn.”**

_Never again_ , Celaena swore, _not now, not ever again_.

**She rolled her eyes, yanking her wrist out of his grasp. “Touch me again,” she said, striding to her bed and picking up the spilled food, “and you’ll lose that hand.”**

Nox tensed his jaw and glanced to her, as though he’d just realized _how_ capable she was to be able to make a threat like that so easily.

Honestly, Celaena was getting tired of pretending that she didn’t know that Nox knew who she was and she was tired of pretending to be some airhead merchant’s daughter who was caught for being a _jewel thief_ of all things.

**Sam didn’t speak to her after that.**

Grave set the book down with a sigh and refused to look at anyone. His arms were crossed and he scowled, but the smirk on Rowan’s face outweighed any fear she might have had about Grave.

The fae prince, she had to remind herself, was the most dangerous enemy here, even if he didn’t look it.


	6. saints and sinners

“You next,” Rowan shoved the book toward Renault, who picked it up with little protest.

Celaena eyed him wearily. When the male had arrived, she’d thought little of him aside from seizing him up as the most formidable opponent in the room. Now, though, he was proving to know far more than he was letting on. How  _ much _ he knew was still anyone's game. 

She would have to tread carefully. 

“Chapter five,” Renault said, then stopped. “How many chapters are in this book?”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Just read. The sooner you start, the sooner it’s over.”

Renault groaned quietly but began.

**Dinner with Sam was silent, and Rolfe appeared at eight to bring them both to the holding facility...**

**The holding facility was an enormous wooden warehouse, and even from down the bloc, something about the place made Celaena’s instincts scream at her to get away. The sharp reek of unwashed bodies didn’t hit her until they stepped inside.**

Nehemia shifted in her seat and clenched her fists. Celaena reached over and grabbed her hand, ignoring the way the princess’s nails dug into her skin. This book would be difficult for the both of them, Celaena knew. It would continue to drag up memories Celaena had spent the better part of a year repressing and burying in the darkest depths of her mind.

**Blinking against the brightness of the torches and crude chandeliers, it took her a few heartbeats to sort out what she was seeing.**

**Rolfe, striding ahead of them, didn’t falter as he passed cell after cell packed with slaves. Instead, he walked toward a large open space in the rear of the warehouse, where a nut-brown Eyllwe man stood before a cluster of four pirates.**

Nehemia’s face was stoic, but Celaena could feel the tension thrumming beneath the surface.

**Beside her, Sam let out a breath, his face wan. If the smell wasn’t bad enough, the people in the cells, clinging to the bars or cowering against the walls or clutching their children -** **_children_ ** **\- ripped at every shred of her being.**

Dorian looked sick. He’d known, logically he’d  _ known _ that children were taken in raids - plenty served families in Rifthold, after all, and several had accompanied their lordly masters when they’d visited the court - but hearing it,  _ seeing _ it through Celaena’s memories, was a completely different story.

_ This _ was the empire he would inherit, an empire where the privileged turned their noses up at those in need and children had their innocence taken away at the hands of the powerful, and he hadn’t given it a second thought...

**Aside from some occasional muffled weeping, the slaves were silent. Some of their eyes widened at the sight of her. She’d forgotten how she must appear - faceless, cloak waving behind her, striding past them like Death itself…**

“She’s still wearing the mask.” Pelor’s eyes widened in realization and he whimpered. Every assassin worth their coin had heard of the legendary figure in dark cloths, the girl who was the incarnation of Death and Vengeance and the Shadows of the Night.

And the thought that he was reading about her, that  _ she _ , the merciless killer, might be the reason for the imminent war in Erilea…

Pelor went rigid. “Prince Rowan,” he said quietly, slowly tearing his eyes from the book to face the Fae. “You said that these books are about a champion in this room, r-right? Is-is that person also Adarlan’s Assassin?”

Rowan hesitated, but the damage was done.

“ _ You! _ ” Celaena sprang from her seat with her long knives drawn just in time to meet Cain’s sword in a flash of steel. Cain’s face was almost as red as his dark amber hair and his stormy grey eyes blazed with fury. Something dark curled within his gaze as he panted, rage and bloodlust evident on his face.

“Fuck off Cain, what makes you think it’s me!” Celaena could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins. Their blades were locked in a battle of wills, her arms straining against the downward stroke of his sword. In the background, she could hear Chaol yelling at the guards and saw the other champions draw their blades, but it was slow to register in her mind. The only thing that mattered was Cain and the  _ thing _ writhing inside him. She would have to trust the castle guards to keep the others away from her. Not that she couldn’t take them, of course, but it would be messy and exhausting and she’d  _ really _ been hoping to avoid spilling blood in front of royalty. No need to paint her as more of a monster than she already was.

“ _ You’re the only girl! _ ” Cain growled, yanking his sword back to take another swipe, but that was where he made his mistake.

In an instant, Celaena had his feet swept out from under him and followed him to the floor where he landed with a gunt on his back. Before he could rise, she was on him, her knees pinning his thighs and a forearm pressed across his neck, the point of one of her knives pointed at his temple, the other resting against the pulse point of his neck.

Cain panted as he tried to use his weight to throw her but she dug her knees farther into the muscle of his thighs.

“Yes, I’m Adarlan’s Assassin,” she said lowly, steel coating her every word. “And you should do well to remember that before you challenge me again. I made it this far staying out of sight and out of mind, pretending to be an airhead jewel thief. Think of what I could do when I’m not holding back.”

He growled again and she pressed the blade of her knife harder against his neck. Blood trickled out in a thick stream and he went still. 

“Think of every legend you’ve heard about me,” she continued, baring her teeth and grinning. “Think about every assassination credited to me and imagine that for every heart I stopped, two more stories went untold. Then, and only then, you  _ might _ come close to the number of people I killed in less than a decade.”

“ _ Celaena! _ ” 

Strong arms yanked her off Cain and pinned her arms behind her back. She didn’t have to look to know that it was Chaol who had her trapped against him, preventing her from attacking Cain again.

Cain slapped away Renault’s attempts to help him up and got to his feet, brushing his hand against the cut on his neck that continued to slowly leak blood.

The mercenary held his own blade limply in his hand, jaw tense and eyes shifting toward her. Grave was also on his feet, fists raised and a sword hanging at his side, and Pelor had knocked his chair over in his haste to get out of it. The knife in his hand trembled as he shook but his gaze was strong. Telmor had dropped his weight low to the ground, crouching in a solid fighting stance with his sword held stiffly in a way Celaena could only describe as military. Strangely, Nox was the only one not out of his seat, though his hand gripped the pommel of his own sword.

Celaena breathed hard, willing her blood to calm though it  _ sang _ when she held her sword against Cain’s neck. She was an assassin through and through and the past few months had been a drought when it came to violence and bloodshed. Something inside her, some monstrous part,  _ craved _ it. Craved the thing she’d been trained to spill since Arobynn hauled her off the freezing river bank so many years ago. She wasn’t proud of that part of her, hated how it simmered beneath her skin when she fought, like some forgotten god demanding a sacrifice. 

“I’m good,” she told Chaol when she no longer felt like she would jump Cain the moment he released her. When Chaol didn’t move, she tugged at his grasp. “ _ I’m good _ .”

With a grunt, Chaol released her and she walked back to her seat. She didn’t dare sheath her knives, not with all the eyes looking at her with murderous intent.

She’d shocked them into silence. Good. 

Or so she thought.

“I bet Endovier taught you a lesson, bitch!” Grave growled and there was a clamouring of swords as the palace guards fought to restrain both Grave and Rowan. The fae prince had lunged across the table and was now being held back by several men who looked like they knew that Rowan could crush them if he wanted to.

Chaol flinched toward her and she knew that he expected to need to restrain her again, but Celaena just ignored the sliver of ice that spread through her chest and gave Grave a court-practiced smile. “It taught me many lessons, but my favourite was how to drive a pickaxe clean through the skull of an overseer.”

She met the gaze of her opponents head-on,  _ refusing _ to back down. She’d made it this far in the competition without any trouble, and sure, she lost her edge, but that just meant that she was now allowed to play by  _ her _ rules. Screw Chaol and ‘staying in the middle of the pack.’ She was going to remind them exactly why Adarlan’s Assassin was the most feared ghost story in all of Erilea.

“Alright,” Dorian stepped down from the dais and slammed his hands on the council table, effectively breaking their staring contest. “Let’s make a few things clear. One, Celaena is a Champion just as you all are and is entitled to continue participating despite whatever your personal feelings on the matter might be. Two, I am allowing you to keep your weapons in an act of goodwill, but if I see or hear of you using them on anybody - and I mean anybody, servant, guard, or champion alike - you  _ will _ be thrown in the dungeons and you will have to pray that I don’t have you executed. Three, whatever you hear here  _ does not leave this room! _ I don’t care if you think it’s pertinent that you tell your sponsor or your friends from whatever hellhole you crawled out of, if I begin to hear rumours about the happenings within this room floating around the castle or Rifthold, everyone here can escort themselves to the gallows because that’s where they’ll be heading regardless of what those rumours might be.” Dorian’s blue eyes, which had so often reminded Celaena of glittering sapphires, were now as hard and cold as a gale-swept ocean. “Have I made myself clear?”

There was a grumble of murmured agreements before Dorian returned to his throne and ran a hand down his face. “Renault,” he said, looking exhausted. “Please, continue.”

With shaking hands and another fearful glance at Celaena, the mercenary picked the book off the floor, where it had fallen in the confusion, and flipped through the pages to find the spot where he’d left off.

**She took in the locks on the pens, counting the number of people crammed into each cell. They hailed from all the kingdoms on the continent. There were even some orange-haired, grey-eyed mountain clansmen - wild-looking men who tracked her movements.**

Cain heaved a growl, torn between glaring at Celaena and the son of the man who’d imprisoned his kin.

**And women - some of them barely older than Celaena herself. Had they been fighters, too, or just in the wrong place at the wrong time.**

Wearily, Nehemia turned to Celaena and eyed the knives laying on the table. Celaena could see her guards shift out of the corner of her eyes and resisted the urge to sigh. Nehemia was in no more danger than she had been when they’d become friends. The other champions, on the other hand…

“You freed them, yes?” Nehemia asked and Celaena’s heart ached. Her only friend here seemed to be shying away from her more with every passing second since Cain had attacked her.

“Them and the others Rolfe captured,” Celaena said. “And Rolfe won’t be making any more slave deals if he values his life.

**Celaena’s heart pounded faster. Even after all these years, people still defied Adarlan’s conquest. But what right did Adarlan - or Rolfe, or anyone - have to treat them like this. Conquest wasn’t enough; no, Adarlan had to** **_break_ ** **them.**

**Eyllwe, she’d heard, had taken the brunt of it.**

Nehemia’s guards shifted, widening their stances and displaying their gold and bronze-adorned weapons and jewelry. If it was possible, they seemed to get bigger, their shoulders broader and their arms thicker. Though they were greatly outnumbered by the castle guards, they stared down the men wearing the red and gold of the ruling House of Havillard.

**Though their king had yielded his power to the King of Adarlan, Eyllwe soldiers still could be found fighting in the rebel groups that plagued Adarlan’s forces. But the land itself was too vital for Adarlan to abandon. Eyllwe boasted two of the most prosperous cities on the continent; its territory - rich in farmland, waterways, and forests - was a crucial vien in trade routes. Now, it seemed, Adarlan had decided that it might make money off its people, too.**

Dorian wouldn’t meet Nehemia’s eyes and Chaol scratched the back of his neck staring, staring at the polished wood before him. The princess, on the other hand, let her eyes sweep over those seated at the table, head held high and defiance sparkling in her brown eyes.

**The men standing around the Eyllwe prisoner parted as Rolfe approached, bowing their heads. She recognized two of the men from dinner the previous night: the short, bald Captain Fairview and the one-eyed, hulking Captain Blackgold. Celaena and Sam stopped beside Rolfe.**

**The Eyllwe man had been stripped naked, his wiry body already bruised and bleeding.**

Nehemia clenched the armrests of her chair so tightly Celaena swore she could hear the wood creaking.

**“This one fought back a bit,” said Captain Fairview. Though sweat gleamed on the slave’s skin, he kept his chin high, his eyes on some distant sight. He must have been around twenty. Did he have a family?**

**“Keep him in irons, though, and he’ll fetch a good price,” Fairview went on, wiping his face on the shoulder of his crimson tunic. The gold embroidery was fraying, and the fabric, which had probably once been rich with colour, was faded and stained. “I’d send him to the market in Bellhaven. Lots of rich men there needing strong hands to do their building. Or women needing strong hands for something else entirely.”**

Grave said something to Cain that had them both laughing, looking in the direction of the two women.

Celaena’s hand shot out to hold Nehemia back in her chair. “Pay no attention to them,” she reminded her friend, “They’re free.”

“But not all.” Nehemia’s tone was bitter.

Celaena lowered her eyes. She thought of the Eyllwe woman who’d tended to her wounds in Endovier and helped her survive the first few weeks. She remembered her screams as the overseers dragged into an abandoned shaft. Something heavy settled in her chest and rose to form a lump in the back of her throat. “But not all.”

**He winked in Celaena’s direction.**

**Unyielding rage boiled up so fast the breath was knocked from her. She didn’t realize her hand was moving toward her sword until Sam knotted his fingers through hers. It was a casual-enough gesture, and to anyone else, it might have looked affectionate. But he squeezed her fingers tightly enough for her to know that he was well aware of what she was about to do.**

**“How many of these slaves will actually be deemed useful? Sam asked, releasing her gloved fingers. “Ours are all going to Rifthold, but you’re dividing this batch up?”**

**Rolfe said, “You think your master is the first to strike a deal with me? We have other agreements in different cities. My partners in Bellhaven tell me what the wealthy are looking for, and I supply them. If I can’t think of a good place to sell the slaves, I’ll send them to Calaculla. If your master has any leftovers, sending them to Endovier might be a good option. Adarlan’s stingy with what they’ll offer when buying slaves for the salt mines, but it’s better than making no money at all.”**

Dorian clenched his jaw and refused to think about what Celaena had endured down there, what Endovier had permanently carved into her skin and probably continued to do to Nehemia’s countrymen.

**...“And the children?” she asked, keeping her voice as neutral as possible. “Where do they go?”**

**Rolfe’s eyes darkened a bit at that, glimmering with enough guilt hat Celaena wondered if the slave trade had been a last resort for him. “We try to keep the children with their mothers,” he said quietly, “But at the auction block, we can’t control whether they’re separated.”**

Out of the corner of her eye, Celaena could see Telmor clench the hilt of his sword. She wondered if he’d ever been involved in raids that took civilians prisoner and if he’d ever given their fates a second thought.

**...“I see. Are they a burden to sell? And how many children can we expect in our shipment?”**

**“We have about ten here,” Rolfe said. “Your shipment shouldn’t contain more than that. And they’re not a burden to sell if you know where to sell them.”**

**“Where?” Sam demanded.**

**“Some wealthy households might want them for scullery maids or stableboys.” Though his voice remained steady, Rolfe studied the ground. “A brothel madam might show up at the auction, too.”**

Though they did their best to appear oblivious to the reading in the room, several guards looked sick at the thought.

Rowan, on the other hand, sighed and thought of his friends he’d left behind in the future. He thought of Lysandra, forced into the life of a courtesan simply for the body she’d taken the day magic had been frozen. He thought of Lysandra’s protégée, Evangeline, who’d been maimed to avoid the same fate that had met her protector. He thought of Aedion, the Wolf of the North, who’d earned the mocking title ‘Adarlan’s Whore,’ who’d lost his innocence on a battlefield and in a bed far too young.

He twisted the ring on his finger, the one that symbolized his marriage to Aelin and his title as Prince-Consort. He wished he could fix things, make it so no child would have to go through what his friends had, but it was impossible. There would always be an Underworld, a hidden part of society that heeled to no law, interwoven into the fabric of the country so subtly that a person scarcely knew it was there. Their court could try, but Rowan doubted child slavery would ever be completely eradicated. The best they could do would be to set good examples and enforce their laws and hope and pray that children stayed innocent.

**Sam’s face went white with fury. If there was one thing that set him off, one subject she** **_knew_ ** **she could always rely upon to rile him, this was it.**

Celaena winced. In hindsight, that wasn’t really cool of her.

**His mother, sold at eight to a brothel, had spent her too-short twenty-eight years clawing her way up from an orphan to one of the most successful courtesans in Rifthold. He’d had Sam only six years before she’d died - murdered by a jealous client. And though she'd amassed some money, it hadn’t been enough to liberate her from the brothel - or to provide for Sam. But she’d been a favourite of Arobynn’s, and when he’d learned that she wanted Sam to be trained by him, he’d taken the boy in.**

“So the boy’s a killer with whore’s blood.” Grave barked a laugh.

“Watch yourself, Grave,” Celaena said, red clouding the vision. “I could say the same about you.”

“Why you -” Whatever Grave was about to say was suddenly cut off as he choked, gasping and reddening as he struggled for hair.

Suddenly, he inhaled sharply and collapsed, heaving in breaths as he stopped choking. 

“What the hell was that?” Chaol asked, a hand on his sword.

No one answered, but Celaena saw Rowan hid a smirk.

**“We’ll take that into consideration,” Sam said sharply.**

**It wasn’t enough for Celaena to ensure the deal fell apart. No, that wasn’t** **_nearly_ ** **enough. Not when all of these people were imprisoned here. Her blood pounded in her veins. Death, at least, was quick. Especially when dealt by her hand. But slavery was unending suffering.**

_ And didn’t she know it _ .

“But-but I thought that people s-said that you -” Pelor trailed off as she turned her attention to him.

“That I tortured my targets?” She asked, giving the boy a lazy half-smirk. “Only those that deserved it.”

Pelor went completely white. She feared the boy would soil himself or pass out - that is, if he didn’t do both.

**“Very well,” she said, lifting her chin. She had to get out of here - and get** **_Sam_ ** **out of here before he snapped. A deadly gleam was growing in his eyes. “I look forward to seeing our shipment tomorrow night.” She inclined her head toward the pen behind her. “When will these slaves be sent out?” It was such a dangerous, stupid question.**

**Rolfe looked to Captain Fairview, who rubbed his dirty head. “This lot? We’ll divvy them up, and they’ll be loaded onto a new ship tomorrow, probably. They’ll sail around the same time you do, I bet. We need to assemble crews.”...**

**With a final look at the slave still standing there, Celaena strode out of the warehouse that stank of fear and death.**

“Time skip,” Renault said, looking vaguely sick after reading the description of the warehouse.

**“Celaena,** **_wait_ ** **!” Sam called, panting as he walked after her.**

**She couldn’t wait. She’d just started walking, and walking, and walking, and now, as she reached the empty beach far from the lights of Skull’s Bay, she wouldn’t stop walking until she reached the water.**

Despite everything, despite the horrors revealed in the first half of the chapter, Rowan couldn’t help but smirk, remembering that beach and how Aelin burst into flame...

He hoped Rolfe was scandalized when he found his pristine beach melted into glass.

**Not too far down the curve in the bay, the watchtower stood guard, Ship-Breaker hanging across the water for the duration of the night...**

**She removed her mask and dropped it behind her, then ripped off her cloak, boots, and tunic. The damp breeze kissed her bare skin, fluttering her delicate white undershirt.**

**“** **_Celaena!_ ** **”**

**Bath-warm waves flooded past her, and she kicked up a spray of water as she kept walking. Before she could get deeper than her calves, Sam grabbed her arm.**

**“What are you doing?” he demanded. She yanked on her arm, but he held firm.**

**In a single, swift movement, she twirled, swinging her other arm. But he knew the move - because he’d practiced it right alongside her for years - and he caught her other hand. “** **_Stop_ ** **,” he said, but she swept her foot. She caught him behind the knee, sending him tumbling down. Sam didn’t release her, and water and sand sprayed as they hit the ground.**

“Hey, that’s like the move she used on you, Cain!” Pelor said, attempting to break the silence.

Cain growled.

“Not the time, boy,” Nox sighed, hand twitching for his sword.

**Celaena landed on top of him, but Sam didn’t pause for a moment. Before she could give him a sharp elbow to the face, he flipped her. The air whooshed out of her lungs. Sam lunged for her, and she had the sense to bring her feet up just as he leapt. She kicked him square in the stomach. He cursed as he dropped to his knees. The surf broke around him, a shower of silver.**

**She sprang into a crouch, the sand hissing beneath her feet as she made to tackle him.**

**But Sam had been waiting, and he twisted away, catching her by the shoulders and throwing her to the ground.**

**She knew she’d been caught before he even finished slamming her into the sand. He pinned her wrists, his knees digging into her thighs to keep her from getting her legs under him again.**

Pelor wisely held his tongue this time, but bounced in his seat, seemingly having regained his colour and his courage.

“So this Sam could beat her - could beat  _ you _ in a fight,” Telmor noted, stumbling over the right way to address her. 

“Rarely,” Celaena said even as her heart tugged painfully in her chest.

**“** **_Enough!_ ** **” His fingers dug painfully into her wrists. A rogue wave reached them, soaking her...**

**“** **_Stop_ ** **,” he said, his breathing ragged. “Please.”**

**In the moonlight, his handsome face was strained. “Please,” he repeated hoarsely.**

**The sorrow - the defeat - in his voice made her pause... Far above his head, stars flickered faintly, nearly invisible in the glow of the moon.**

**“I’m not going to let you go until you promise to stop attacking me,” Sam said...**

**She took one breath, then another. She had no reason to attack Sam. Not when he’d kept her from gutting that pirate in the warehouse. Not when he’d gotten so riled about the slave children…**

Celaena took Nehemia’s hand and squeezed it. 

**“I promise,” she murmured.**

**“Swear it.”**

**“I swear on my life.”**

**He watched her for a second longer, then slowly eased off her. She waited until he was standing, then got to her feet. Both of them were soaked and crusted with sand, and she was fairly certain her hair had come half out of her braid and she looked like a raging lunatic.**

Dorian crackled a strained smile. “So like you usually do, then?”

To everyone’s surprise, Celaena didn’t retaliate except to stick her tongue out at him.

**“So,” he said, taking off his boots and tossing them onto the sand behind them. “Are you going to explain yourself?” He rolled his pants up to the knees and took a few steps into the surf...**

**She resumed her pacing. “It makes me sick. It makes me… it makes me so mad I think I might…” She couldn’t finish the thought.**

**“Might what?” Splashing step sounded, and she looked over her shoulder to find him approaching her. He crossed his arms, bracing for a fight. “Might do something as foolish as attacking Rolfe’s men in their own warehouse?”**

Rowan snorted. “That’s not the most foolish thing you’ve ever done or ever will do.”

“How do you know?” Chaol asked, tightening his grip on his sword. “What makes you think you know anything about her?”

Something fierce burned in Rowan’s green eyes. “Because I know her in the future. I’ve known her for a lot longer than you have,  _ boy _ .”

Chaol swallowed roughly but didn’t say anything. What else  _ could _ he say to a fae prince who’d magically come from the future claiming to know how the events of the next few years would unfold? 

**It was now or never. She hadn’t wanted to involve him, but… now that her plans had changed, she needed his help.**

**“I might do something as foolish as freeing the slaves,” she said.**

“What?” Renault deadpanned. “Impossible.”

“That’s what you meant,” Telmor realized, “When you said that the slave ships never made it to Rifthold. You stopped them.”

“I  _ destroyed  _ them,” Celaena corrected, crossing her arms with a grin on her face. 

Nehemia squeezed her knee in a silent thanks. In a situation like the one they found themselves in, she couldn’t reveal her cards too early, but she could still thank her friend for what she did for her people.

“Holy shit,” Nox breathed.

**Sam went so still that he might have been turned into stone. “I knew you were thinking up something - but** **_freeing_ ** **them…”**

**“I’m going to do it with or without you.”...**

**“Rolfe will kill you,” Sam said. “Or Arobynn will, if Rolfe doesn’t first.”**

Celaena hid a wince. There was that thought, the one that had been there since she was sentenced to Endovier, that  _ this _ might have been the reason she was captured. Even if Arobynn hadn’t set her up - and  _ gods _ , she hoped it wasn’t him, she didn’t think she could stand another betrayal - there was the possibility that he’d thought a wayward assassin too risky to attempt a rescue.

Meanwhile, Rowan clenched his fist. What Arobynn had done to her was inexcusable and if Lysandra hadn’t already killed him - would kill him, whatever - Rowan would slit the man’s throat himself. And he’d take his time with it.

**“I have to try,” she said.**

**“Why?” Sam stepped close enough that she needed to tilt her head back to see his face. “We’re assassins. We** **_kill_ ** **people. We destroy lives every day.”**

**“We have a choice,” she breathed. “Maybe not when we were children - when it was Arobynn or death - but now… Now you and I have a** **_choice_ ** **in the things we do. Those slaves were just** **_taken_ ** **. They were fighting for their freedom, or lived too close to a battlefield, or some mercenaries passed through their town and** **_stole_ ** **them. They’re innocent people.”**

**“And we weren’t?”**

Celaena rubbed the scars on her wrists. She hadn’t been an innocent for a long time. What she had been, the child she’d once been, had died in the river a long time ago.

**Something icy pierced her heart at the glimmer of memory. “We kill corrupt officials and adulterous spouses; we make it quick and clean. These are entire families being ripped apart. Every one of these people used to be somebody.”**

Dorian swallowed the bile rising in his throat. The thought that, in a different life, it might have been him in those irons made him sick. If Terrasen had been given time to gather their army, if the fae in their country had been given a chance to fight back with their magic, it could have been him on that slave ship. He might disagree with his father, barely tolerate his mother, and fight with his brother, but the fact was that they were family. He couldn’t imagine what Celaena felt like. Chaol had mentioned that she said that she’d become an assassin after her parents were killed when Terrasen fell. Whoever Celaena had been before had been destroyed by his family, by his father’s greed, and would be his legacy to burden someday.

**Sam’s eyes glowed. “I’m not disagreeing with you. I don’t like the idea of this at all. Not just the slaves, but Arobynn’s involvement. And those children…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “But we’re just two people, surrounded by Rolfe’s pirates.”**

**She gave him a crooked grin. “Then it’s a good thing we’re the best. And,” she added, “it’s good that I’ve been asking him so many questions about his plans for the next two days.”**

**Sam blinked. “You realize this is the most reckless thing you’ve ever done, right?”**

**“Reckless, but maybe the most meaningful, too.”**

It had seemed meaningful, Celaena realized, until she saw all those shackled in Endovier, saw how  _ little _ effect her actions had meant in the grand scheme of things. What were two hundred slaves compared to the thousands Adarlan still had under its grasp?

**Sam stared at her long enough for heat to flood her cheek, as if he could see right inside of her - see everything. The fact that he didn’t turn away from whatever he saw made her blood thrum in her veins. “I supposed if we’re going to die, it should be for a noble cause,” he said.**

**She snorted, using it as an excuse to step away from him. “We’re not going to die. At least, not if we follow my plan.”**

**He groaned. “You already have a plan?”**

**She grinned, then told him everything. When she had finished, he only scratched his head. “Well,” he admitted, sitting on the sand, “I suppose that’d work. We’d have to time it right, but…”**

**“But it could work.” She sat beside him.**

“Does it not say what the plan is?” Pelor asked, leaning toward Renault.

“No,” Renault growled and twisted away from the boy. “Sit back down.”

Pelor glanced at her, as though he was debating asking her to tell him what had happened, then decided better.

**“When Arobynn finds out…”**

**“Leave Arobynn to me. I’ll figure out how to deal with him.”**

**“We could always just…** **_not_ ** **return to Rifthold,” Sam suggested.**

Dorian blinked. He knew that she’d bought their freedom before Sam’s death, but he hadn’t realized she might very well have run away long before that.

**“What, run away?”**

**Sam shrugged. Though he kept his eyes on the waves, she could have sworn a blush darkened his cheeks. “He might very well kill us.”**

**“If we ran away, he’d hunt us for the rest of our lives. Even if we took different names, he’d find us.” As if she could leave her entire life behind! “He’s invested too much money in us - and we’ve yet to pay him back entirely. He’d see it as a bad investment.”**

Something sour filled her mouth. An investment. That’s all Arobynn ever saw her as and she wondered why it had taken her eight years to figure that out.

**Sam’s gaze drifted northward, as if he could see the sprawling capital city and its towering glass castle. “I think there’s more at work here than this trade agreement.”**

**“What do you mean?”**

**Sam traced circles in the sand between them. “I mean, why send the two of us here in the first place? His excuse for sending us away was a lie. We’re not instrumental to this deal. He could just as easily have sent two other assassins who aren’t at each other's throats all the time.”**

**“What are you implying?”**

**Sam shrugged. “Perhaps Arobynn wanted us out of Rifthold right now. Needed to get us out of the city for a month.”**

**A chill went through her. “Arobynn wouldn’t do that.”**

Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “From what I’ve heard of him,” he chose his words carefully. “That’s exactly what Arobynn would do.”

Celaena clenched her jaw and ignored the glances sent her way.  _ So naive, she’d been so naive. _

**“Wouldn’t he?” Sam asked…. “But some things don’t add up. And there are questions that haven’t been answered.”**

**“We’re not supposed to question Arobynn,” she murmured.**

**“And since when do you ever follow orders?”**

**She stood. “Let’s get through the next few days. Then we’ll consider whatever conspiracy theories you’re inventing.**

**Sam was on his feet in an instant. “I don’t have any** **_theories_ ** **. Just questions that you should be asking yourself, too.** **_Why_ ** **did he want us gone this month?”**

**“We can trust Arobynn.” Even as the words left her mouth, she felt stupid for saying them.**

Celaena pinched the bridge of her nose.  _ So naive, so stupid, too trusting. _

**Sam stooped to pick up his boots. “I’m going back to the tavern. Are you coming?”**

**“No. I’m staying here for a little longer.”**

**Sam gave her an appraising look, but nodded. “We’re to examine Arobynn’s slaves on their ship at four tomorrow afternoon. Try not to stay out here the whole night. We need all the rest we can get.”**

**She didn’t reply, and turned away before she could watch him head toward the golden lights of Skull’s Bay.**

**She walked along the curve of the shoreline, all the way to the lone watchtower… She walked until a surprisingly cold breeze swept past her. She halted.**

**Slowly, Celaena turned north, toward the source of the breeze, which smelled of a faraway land she hadn’t seen in eight years. Pine and snow**

Rowan blinked.

**\- a city still in winter’s grasp. She breathed it in, staring across the leagues of lonely, black ocean, seeing, somehow, that distant city that had once, long ago, been her home. The wind ripped the strands of hair from her braid, lashing them across her face. Orynth. A city of light and music, watched by an alabaster castle with an opal tower so bright it could be viewed for miles.**

“Wait,” Nox let go of the sword he’d been clutching since she and Cain had brawled. “You’re from Terrasen?”

Celaena could feel the weight of remembrance fall on her shoulders. “A long time ago. I left when I was a child.”

“Oh. Where did you live?”

“Orynth.” She studied his reaction carefully.

All Nox did was give her a small smile. “Perranth,” he said by way of explanation.

Nehemia gripped her hand tighter and gave an almost imperceivable nod to Nox. 

The children of conquered kingdoms, all gathered in the castle of the man who’d uprooted their lives. The same man whose son sat on a throne at the head of the table.

**The moonlight vanished behind a thick cloud. In the sudden dark, the stars glowed brighter.**

**She knew all the constellations by heart, and she instinctively sought out the Stag, Lord of the North, and the immovable star that crowned his head.**

Celaena let out a low breath, trying to ignore the longing in her chest.

**Back then, she hadn’t had any choice. When Arobynn offered her this path, it was either that, or death. But now…**

**She took a shuddering breath. No, she was as limited in her choices as she’d been when she was eight years old. She was Adarlan’s Assassin, Arobynn Hamel’s protégée and heir - and she always would be.**

_ Not anymore _ .

She flexed her fingers and ignored the glares of Cain and Grave.

**It was a long walk back to the tavern.**

“I’m done!” Renault announced. “Cain?”

“Absolutely not,” he growled, but faltered when Dorian nodded his head.

“You’re one of the only ones who hasn’t read yet, Cain,” Dorian said with a singing lilt to his tone. “It’s only  _ fair _ .”

Cain’s face dropped further into a scowl and he grumbled as he snatched the book from Renault’s hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It says on the wiki that Cain has dark hair and eyes but it also says that he is one of the mountain men known to have red hair and grey eyes, so I compromised and gave him dark auburn hair and dark grey eyes. *shrug*


	7. saviour of the broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk what's going on with the spacing, guys. I'll figure it out eventually.

“Do you think she’s gonna free them in this chapter?” Pelor asked, chewing on his lip. “What do you think Arobynn Hamel will do?”

Before anyone could respond to that, Celaena crossed her arms and levelled a flat glare at the boy. “You do realize that this book isn’t fiction, right? This isn’t a  _ game _ or some adventure story with a happy ending. These pages are my life,” her glare deepened and she leaned back in her chair, “And you already know this doesn’t have a  _ happy ending _ . You’ve heard of my master, take a wild  _ fucking  _ guess at what he’s going to do.”

Pelor paled under her fierce stare, the freckles standing bright against his cheeks.

Celaena sighed. “Just - just read, Cain.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Cain growled but flicked to the correct page when Rowan glared at him. “Fine.”

**...Celaena spent the following day with Sam, walking through the streets of Skull’s Bay. They kept their pace leisurely... but all the while tracing each step of their plan, going over every detail that they’d need to orchestrate perfectly.**

**From the fishermen along the docks, they learned that the rowboats tied to the piers belonged to nobody in particular, and that tomorrow’s morning tide came in just after sunrise. Not advantageous, but better than midday.**

**From flirting with the harlots along the main street, Sam learned that every once in a while, Rolfe covered the tab for all the pirates in his service, and the revelry lasted for days...**

**And from the half-drunk pirate languishing in an alley, Celaena learned how many men guarded the slave ships, what manner of weapons they carried, and where the slaves were being kept.**

“Oh no,” Rowan groaned silently, already knowing where this chapter was heading. 

Celaena shot him a quizzical look, but didn’t say anything.

**When four o’clock rolled around, Celaena and Sam were standing aboard the ship Rolfe had promised them, watching and counting as the slaves stumbled onto the wide deck. Ninety-three. Mostly men, most of them young. The women were a broader range of ages, and there were only a handful of children, just as Rolfe had said.**

Dorian clenched the armrests of his throne. His kingdom, the empire he was to inherit, was built on the backs of  _ slaves _ . How many more children, he wondered, had never had the chance to be children under the lash of the whip, or had come of age on an auction block? How many times had he seen the men and women attending the lords and ladies of the court and never once gave a second thought as to who they’d been and how they’d ended up living on their knees.

He tried to ignore that voice in his head, that ice-cold crooning that said  _ you knew, you saw, you just didn’t want to acknowledge it, because that made it real. _

**“Do they meet your refined tastes?” Rolfe asked as he approached.**

**“I thought you said there’d be more,” she replied coldly, keeping her eyes upon the chained slaves.**

**“We had an even hundred, but seven died on the journey.”**

Nehemia dug her long, painting nails into the meat of her palm. Sitting here, near the prince and the captain, reminded her of  _ why _ , exactly, she’d been sent to Adarlan in the first place. It was easy to forget, when spending time with her friend, but learning,  _ knowing _ Celaena had been keeping secrets pulled her back to reality. She, too, had her reasons for being in the capital, and even though they might be different from Nehemia’s, she was living proof of Adarlan’s cruelty. Nehemia hoped her friend would turn into an ally, in time.

**She bit back the anger that flared. Sam, knowing her far too well for her liking, cut it. “And how many can we expect to lose on the journey to Rifthold?” His face was relatively neutral, though his brown eyes flashed with annoyance...**

**Rolfe ran a hand through his dark hair. “Don’t you two ever stop** **_questioning_ ** **?**

Chaol gave a cough that sounded like he was trying to cover up a laugh.

**There’s no way of predicting how many slaves you’ll lose. Just keep them watered and fed.”**

“They’re not  _ cattle _ !” Celaena growled despite herself, then breathed in deeply, centring and repressing her emotions. Not ignoring them, just burying them until she could deal with them properly - preferably with a sword in her hand and an opponent lying beaten and defeated on the ground.

**...Rolfe was already walking to his group of guards. Celaena and Sam followed him, observing as the last of the slaves were shoved onto the deck.**

**...“Tonight,” she said to the Pirate Lord, “you can guarantee that this ship’s protected?” Rolfe sighed loudly and nodded. “That watchtower across the bay,” she pressed. “I assume that they’ll also be responsible or monitoring this ship, too?”**

**“Yes,” Rolfe snapped. Celaena opened her mouth, but he interrupted. “And before you ask, let me just say that we change the watch just before dawn.”...**

**“How many of the slaves speak our language?” she asked.**

Nox winced. “A dangerous question.”

He seemed to be the only one regarding her with the same wariness as before. Either he was incredibly brave or foolishly an idiot. “Rolfe was never all that smart,” Celaena shrugged. “He proved that when he got involved with the trade in the first place.”

**Rolfe raised a brow. “Why?”**

**She could feel Sam tense beside her, but she shrugged. “It might add to their value.”**

**Rolfe studied her a bit too closely, then whirled to face a slave woman standing nearby. “Do you speak the common tongue?”**

**She looked this way and that, clutching her scraps of clothing to her - a mix of fur and wool undoubtedly worn to keep her warm in the frigid mountain passes of the White Fangs.**

Cain’s voice dropped to a growled as he read the sentence. The tips of his ears reddened and he clenched the book so tightly Celaena feared he’d rip it right in two.

**“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Rolfe demanded. The woman lifted her shackled hands. Raw, red skin lay around the iron.**

As though by some invisible, unconscious force, the gazes of all in the room landed on Celaena’s wrists, the scars peeking out from beneath the cuffs of her tunic. They were still angry red and puckered, indicating how recently they'd begun to heal.

Rowan could hardly keep his lunch down. It was one thing to know that Aelin had gone through Endovier, it was another to see the aged scars on her back after almost three years out of the mines, and yet another to see them after only a few months. He wondered briefly what the scars on her back would look like, if they were healed yet or if they still opened when she trained too hard, then quickly pushed the thought away. It only served as a reminder that Aelin didn’t  _ have _ them any more, because she’d been  _ skinned alive  _ and they’d had to completely regrow her skin after each session so they could start again the next day.

Suddenly, Rowan understood tenfold what her scars meant to her. To Celaena, they were a reminder of what she’d survived, what she’d endured and the trials she'd remained unbroken through. For Aelin, each marked the memory of another person lost, another moment gone, another promise to the country and the duty she’d run from for more than a decade. They represented the hell she’d gone through to find love and her purpose and to reclaim her birthright. 

And Cairn had stripped that from her with a scalpel and endless sadistic patience.

Rowan was  _ really _ glad he had returned the favour.

**“I think the answer is no,” Sam offered.**

**Rolfe glared at him, then walked through the stables. “Can any of you speak the common tongue?” He repeated himself, and was about to turn back when an older Eyllwe man - reed thin and covered in cuts and bruises - stepped forward.**

Nehemia looked about ready to smack Rolfe.

**“I can,” he said.**

**‘That’s it?” Rolfe barked at the slaves. “No one else?” Celaena approached the man who had spoken, committing his face to memory. He recoiled at her mask and cloak.**

**“Well, at least he might fetch a higher price,” Celaena said over her shoulder to Rolfe. Sam summoned Rolfe with a question about the mountain-woman in front of him, providing enough distraction. “What’s your name?” Celaena asked the slave.**

**“Dia.” His long, frail fingers trembled slightly.**

**“You’re fluent?”**

**He nodded. “My - my mother was from Bellhaven. My father was a merchant from Banjali. I grew up with both languages.”**

Renault blinked. “How the hell did he end up there?”

“He was probably in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Telmor said, wetting his lips. “Or he had been caught doing trade with members of a rebel party. Either one is possible.”

**...The other slaves on the deck hung back, huddling together, even some of the larger men and women whose scars and bruises marked them as fighters - prisoners of war. Had hey already seen enough of slavery to break them? For both her sake and theirs, she hoped not.**

“Oh, stop looking at me like that,” Celaena snapped when she felt the gaze of several pairs of eyes on her, no matter how subtle they tried to be. “It takes a lot more than a year in Endovier to break me.” The lie tasted bitter in her mouth.

**“Good,” she said, and strode away.**

“There’s a time skip here,” Cain said gruffly, 

**Hours later, no one noticed - or if they did, they certainly didn’t care - when two cloaked figures slipped into two rowboats and headed toward the slave ships hovering several years offshore. A few lanterns illuminated the behemoth vessels, but the moon was bright enough for Celaena to easily make out the** **_Golden Wolf_ ** **as she rowed toward it.**

**To her right, Sam rowed as quietly as he could to the** **_Loveless_ ** **, where the slaves from yesterday were being held. Silence was their only hope and ally, though the town behind them was already in the midst of revelry. It hadn't taken long for word to get out that Arobynn Hamel’s assassins had opened a celebratory tab at the tavern, and even as they had strode to the docks, pirates were already streaming the other way toward the inn.**

Rowan groaned again and buried his face in his hands. “You are going to be the death of me.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Celaena looked vaguely amused, like the idea of giving him a heart attack might be entertaining. 

Rowan glared at her. “I know  _ exactly  _ what you’re doing. He still has the bar tab,” he said, “And he keeps it for target practice in his office.”

Celaena laughed wickedly.

Pelor looked between them and blinked. “I - I’m confused. You know each other?”

Nox sighed and ran a hand down his face. “Weren’t you paying attention in the beginning? Prince Rowan knows Celaena in the future, but she doesn’t know him yet - at least, not before this reading.”

“Oh, right,” Pelor flushed. “And what is it they’re doing?”

“I’m getting everyone drunk,” Celaena smirked, “And I ran away without paying. According to him,” she pointed with her thumb to Rowan, “Rolfe still hasn’t forgotten.”

Pelor gave a strained smile, apparently not understanding but far too afraid of her to ask again.

**...It wasn’t the town she was worried about, but the solitary watchtower to her left. A fire burned in its jagged turret, faintly illuminating the catapults and the ancient chain across the narrow bay mouth. If they were to be caught, the first alarm would be sounded from there.**

“Why wouldn’t you take it down first, before you go out on the boats?” Dorian asked.

“Because,” Celaena sighed. “We’re not escaping yet and it would draw far too much attention - especially if the guard change came and found several dead or unconscious bodies in place of the watch. No one can leave until the chain is down and the tide is right. Otherwise, we’d never make it out of the bay.”

... **Celaena drifted the last few feet to the** **_Golden Wolf_ ** **and grasped the rung of a wooden ladder to keep the boat from thudding too hard against the hull.**

**They were better off at first light tomorrow, when the pirates would be too drunk or unconscious to notice, and when they had high tide on their side.**

Chaol raised an eyebrow. He’d known that Celaena was strategically-inclined and was good at thinking up complex plans on the spot, but he’d never realized the extent. He could never imagine her taking down a town full of pirates and freeing two ships with over two hundred slaves on it - with only one partner to help. Even  _ he _ would struggle to do it with a company of trusted guards, much less with a person he’d constantly fought with and being outnumbered by vast odds.

He glanced at the golden-haired assassin sitting beside the princess of Eyllwe. It seemed there as still much to figure out about Celaena Sardothien.

**Sam flashed a compact mirror, indicating he’d made it to the** **_Loveless_ ** **. Catching the light in her own mirror, she signaled him back, then flashed twice, indicating that she was ready.**

**A moment later, Sam returned the same signal. Celaena took a long, steadying breath.**

**It was time.**

“It’s done,” Cain snapped the book shut and turned to Celaena with a wicked smile on his face. “You can read, bitch.”

“Cain, I don’t think it’s really fair to make her read her own -” Nox began but was cut off quickly by Celaena.

“I can’t wait.” Celaena held her hand out for the book, holding Cain’s gaze the entire time. She would show whatever demon curled in his black heart that she had not been broken by the mines and was as much a threat now as she was then. 

Whatever Cain was hoping to prove, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching her carefully-placed mask crack because of a  _ book _ .


	8. the smallest light shines best in the hours before the dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for not updating earlier, but I've been working on other projects that have captured my attention until now, so I managed to squeeze in an hour of writing the moment inspiration hit. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Celaena flipped the page to the next chapter. She couldn’t help but admire the feeling of the smooth paper beneath his fingers, and the rough, leather-bound jacket of the faded exterior. As much as she loved new books and their smell, there was something to be said about the musty and crinkled pages of old books that were beginning to fall apart at their seams. It reminded her of another time, when she could be free to spend her afternoons curled up in her family library, the winter snows battering against the stained glass but unable to pierce the warmth of the library…

But it wouldn’t do to think of things that could never be. Clearing her throat, and glaring at Cain once more, she began. 

**Nimble as a cat and as smooth as a snake, Celaena climbed the wooden ladder built into the side of the ship.**

Celaena paused and made a face. “I didn’t realize how weird it would be to talk about myself in the third person.”

**The first guard didn’t notice she was upon him until her hands were around his neck… The second guard, stationed at the helm, saw her coming up the staircase. He managed to emit a muffled cry before the pommel of her dagger slammed into his forehead. Not as neat, and not as quiet: he hit the deck with a thud that made the third guard, stationed at the prow, whirl to see.**

Behind the cover of the book, Celaena winced. It hadn’t been her most elegant hour.

**But it was shadowy, and there were yards of ship between them. Celaena crouched low to the deck, covering the fallen guard’s body with her cloak.**

**“Jon?” the third guard called across the deck. Celaena winced at the sound. Not too far away, the** **_Loveless_ ** **was silent.**

**Celaena grimaced at the reek from Jon’s unwashed body.**

Nehemia pursed her lips in disgust but said nothing.

**“Jon?” the guard said, and thumping steps followed. Closer and closer. He’d see the first guard soon.**

**Three… two… one…**

**“What in** **_hell_ ** **?” The guard tripped over the first guard’s prostrate body.**

Celaena threw her head back and cackled. “I’d forgotten how funny his reaction was.”

Renault looked at her incredulously. “You’re insane,” he decided.

Celaena sobered. “I’m really not but, well,” she shrugged. “In this life, you have to appreciate the small moments.”

**...She swung over the railing fast enough that the guard didn’t look up until she’d landed behind him. All it took was a swift blow to the head and she was easing his body down atop the first guard’s. Her heart hammering through every inch of her, she sprinted to the prow of the ship. She flashed the mirror three times. Three guards down.**

Pelor furrowed his eyebrows and opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, as though regretting what he’d been about to say.

Nox, on the other hand, let out a low whistle. “You’ve been really holding back, haven’t you?”

Celaena shrugged and turned the page. “This? I got better.”

**...Far too many heartbeats later, a signal greeted her… The guards on the** **_Loveless_ ** **were unconscious, too.**

**She signaled once. The watchtower was still quiet. If the guards were up there, they hadn’t seen anything. She had to be quick, had to get this done before her disappearance was noticed.**

**The guard outside the captain’s quarters managed to kick the wall hard enough to wake the dead before she knocked him out, but it didn’t stop Captain Fairview from squealing when she slipped into his office and shut the door.**

Chaol coughed, trying to hide a smile. 

**When Fairview was secured in the brig, gagged and bound and fully aware that his cooperation and the cooperation of his guards meant his life, she crept down to the cargo area.**

**...Silently as she could, she grabbed a lantern hanging from a peg on the wall and opened the door. The reek almost brought her to her knees.**

Letting go of the book with one hand, Celaena let it drift down to grasp Nehemia’s under the table. Remembering this wasn’t easy for either of them, and she couldn’t do much from here, in Adarlan, as a potential Champion, but she could reassure her friend, so she would do her best to do so.

**The ceiling was so low she almost grazed it with her head. The slaves had all been chained, sitting, to the floor. No latrines, no source of light, no food or water.**

Nehemia’s guards shifted, their armour clinking in the near-silent room, and Dorian’s frown deepened at the description of the slave ships. Celaena herself ignored the way Nehemia’s hand was squeezing hers so tightly she could feel the blood pooling in her fingertips.

**...Celaena took the ring of keys she’d stolen from the captain’s quarters and stepped into the cargo chamber. “Where is Dia?” she asked. They said nothing, either because they didn’t understand, or out of solidarity.**

**Celaena sighed, stepping farther into the chamber, and some of the wild-eyed mountain men murmured to one another. While they might have only recently declared themselves Adarlan’s enemies, the people of the White Fang Mountains had long been known for their unyielding love of violence.**

Cain turned to glare at her, baring his teeth slightly.

“I beat you once already, Cain,” she said, not looking up from the book. “Don’t make me do it again.”

He muttered something under his breath and braced his forearms against the table, but turned from her to glare at Dorian instead.

She took note of that and subtly shifted her leg, the knife strapped to her calf and the shifting of her sword belt reassuring her that she had several weapons at her disposal in case Cain or any of the other Champions decided to take their grudge against Adarlan out on Dorian.

**...“Where is Dia?” she asked more loudly.**

**A trembling voice came from the back of the cargo area. “Here.” Her eyes strained to spy his narrow, fine features. “I’m here.”**

**She strode carefully through the crowded darkness… She took out Captain Fairview’s key and freed the shackles at Dia’s feet, then his manacles, before offering him a hand up. “You’re going to translate for me.”**

“What did you do about those who didn’t speak Common or Eyllwe?” Telmor asked, frowning slightly.

Celaena shrugged. “They figured it out well enough on their own.”

**Dia rubbed his wrists, which were bleeding and scabbed in places. “Who are you?”**

The last word was nearly yelped out as Nehemia squeezed Celaena’s fingers suddenly and so tightly the bones seemed to rub together.

Nehemia released her finger with an apologetic wince. “Forgive me,” she said in Eyllwe.

“It’s alright,” Celaena whispered back in the same language.

**Celaena unlocked the chains of the too-thin woman beside Dia, then held out the keys in her direction. “A friend,” she said. “Tell her to unlock everyone, but tell them not to leave this room.”**

**Dia nodded, and spoke in Eyllwe. The woman, mouth slightly open, looked at Celaena, then took the keys…**

Nox was studying her with a calculating look in his eyes. It unnerved her slightly, but not as much as Rowan’s words.

“You must have been like a god to them,” he said, rubbing his admittedly well-defined jaw.

Something about that didn’t sit well with Celaena. She hadn’t been called anything but a monster for ten years - a bastard or a whore on a good day, maybe - but never something as benevolent as a god. It also raised unwanted memories of her ancestors and the weight of Deanna’s arrow in her hands at Yulemas…

But she wasn’t that person now, and no amount of pretending could make her believe otherwise.

**Dia then addressed the entire cargo bay, his voice soft but fierce.**

**“The guards are unconscious,” she said. Dia translated. “The captain has been locked in the brig, and tomorrow, should you choose to act, he will guide you through the Dead Islands and to safety. He knows that the penalty for bad information is death.” Dia translated, his eyes growing wider and wider. Somewhere near the back, one of the mountain men began translating. And then two others translated, too —one in the language of Melisande, and another in a language she didn’t recognize. Had it been clever or cowardly of them not to speak up last night when she asked who spoke the common tongue?**

“Clever, I’d said,” Pelor said, scratching his nose. “Never reveal all your cards in one hand.”

Celaena considered it. “I’d have to agree with you.”

Pelor didn’t look very pleased that he thought the same way as Adarlan’s Assassin.

**...She let Dia and the others finish before going on.**

**“My colleague is already aboard the Loveless, another slave ship set to sail tomorrow.” She swallowed hard. “When I am done here, he and I will return to the town and create a distraction large enough that when the dawn breaks, you will have enough time to sail out of the harbor. You need the full day to sail out of the Dead Islands before dark—or else you’ll be caught in their labyrinth.”**

**Dia translated, but a woman spoke from nearby. Dia frowned as he turned to Celaena. “She has two questions. What of the chain at the entrance to the bay? And how will we sail the ship?”**

Chaol winced. “Those are both pretty big obstacles, Celaena, are you sure -”

She gave him a deadpan glare. “This already happened and you  _ know _ I succeeded. I would have thought my squabble with Cain would teach you not to underestimate me anymore.”

Dorian grimaced. If  _ that _ was what she called a squabble, he didn’t want to know what it looked like when she fought for real.

**Celaena nodded. “Leave the chain to us. We’ll have it down before you reach it.”**

**When Dia and the others translated, murmurs broke out. Shackles were still thudding to the ground as slave after slave was unlocked.**

“Thank you,” Nehemia whispered. “My country thanks you, too.”

Celaena smiled softly. “I couldn’t live with myself if I had allowed it to happen.”

**“As for sailing the ship,” she went on above the noise, “are any of you sailors? Fishermen?”**

**Some hands went up. “Captain Fairview will give you specific instructions. You’ll have to row out of the bay, though. Everyone who has the strength will be needed on the oars, or you won’t have a shot of outrunning Rolfe’s ships.”**

**“What of his fleet?” another man asked.**

**“Leave it to me.”**

“You’re going to take on an entire fleet by yourself,” Renault realized. “Are you out of your  _ fucking mind _ ?!”

“Nope,” Celaena said cheerfully and turned the page.

**...“No matter if the chain is still up, no matter what might be happening in town, the moment the sun slips over the horizon, you start rowing like hell.”**

**A few voices objected to Dia’s translation, and he gave a sharp, short reply before turning to her. “We will sort out specifics on our own.”**

**...She bowed her head in farewell as she left the cargo hold, beckoning Dia along with her. Discussion started behind them—muffled, at least.**

**...She pointed down the hall. “That is where the brig is; there you’ll find Captain Fairview. Get him out before dawn, and don’t be afraid to bloody him up a bit if he refuses to talk. There are three unconscious guards tied up on the deck, a guard outside Fairview’s quarters, and the two here. Do whatever you want with them; the choice is yours.”**

“Do - do you know what happened to them?” Pelor asked in a small voice.

Celaena shrugged. “Nope, no idea.”

**“I’ll have someone take them to the brig,” Dia said quickly. He rubbed at the stubble on his face. “How much time will we have to get away? How long before the pirates notice?”**

**“I don’t know. I’ll try to disable their ships, which might slow them down.” They reached the narrow stairs that led to the upper decks. “There’s one thing I need you to do,” she continued, and he looked up at her, his eyes bright. “My colleague doesn’t speak Eyllwe. I need you to take a rowboat to the other ship and tell them all that I’ve told you, and unlock their chains...**

**Dia sucked in a breath, but nodded. “I will.”**

“He’s a brave man,” Dorian said quietly, glancing at Nehemia in a way that seemed to convey a desperate apology.

“They all are,” Celaena said with her chin held high. “All of them.”

Nehemia squeezed her hand under the table.

**After Dia told the people in the cargo bay to take the unconscious guards to the brig, he crept with Celaena onto the empty deck. He cringed at the sight of the unconscious guards, but didn’t object when she swept Jon’s cloak over his shoulders and concealed his face in the folds of the cloak. Or when she gave him Jon’s sword and dagger.**

“I’m sorry,” Celaena paused in her reading and whispered to Nehemia in Eyllwe. “I’m sorry he became another pawn in one of my plans.”

“He was already a pawn,” Nehemia reassured in Eyllwe. “But you gave him back his life, you gave him an opportunity to retake his freedom, and for that, I can never thank you enough.”

**Sam was already waiting at the side of the ship, hidden from the far-seeing eyes of the watchtower. He helped Dia into the first rowboat before climbing into the second and waiting for Celaena to get aboard.**

**...Without another word, Dia began rowing to the other ship, his strokes a bit too loud for her liking, but not enough to be detected.**

**Sam, too, started rowing, slipping around the curve of the prow and heading toward the docks at a casual, unsuspicious pace.**

**“Nervous?” he asked, his voice barely audible above the steady slice of his oars through the calm bay.**

**“No,” she lied.**

**“Me, too.”**

Grave sniggered into his fist.

Celaena glared at him but refused to give him the satisfaction of retorting.

**Ahead of them were the golden lights of Skull’s Bay. Hoots and cheers echoed across the water. Word had certainly spread about the free ale.**

**She smiled slightly. “Get ready to unleash hell.**

“Done!” she announced, then studied the people around her at the table. 

Which of them to choose.

“Think fast, Choal!” she yelled and tossed the book to him.

He nearly fumbled the book before getting a grip on it. “Celaena,” he protested, “You couldn’t have warned me first?”

“I did.” She grinned. “I told you I was throwing it to you.”

Chaol seemed like he wanted to protest, but one look at Rowan’s stoic face had him sighing and flipping the book back to the correct page.


	9. my concious flies with the wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one night? What is the world coming to xD

“Chapter eight,” Chaol said.

**Though the chant of the crowd roared around them, Rolfe and Sam had their eyes closed in concentration as their throats moved up and down, down and up, chugging their mugs of ale. And Celaena, watching it from behind her mask, could not stop laughing.**

**...Rolfe slammed his mug on the table, letting out a satisfied “Ah!” and wiping his wet mouth on his sleeve as the gathered crowd cheered. Celaena cackled, her masked face oozing sweat. Like everyplace else on this island, the tavern was suffocatingly hot, and the odor of ale and unwashed bodies poured from every crevice and stone.**

Dorian grimaced and wrinkled his nose.

**It was packed to capacity. A three-man ensemble made up of an accordion, a fiddle, and a tambourine played raucously in the corner by the hearth. Pirates swapped stories and called for their favorite songs. Peasants and lowlifes drank themselves into oblivion and gambled on rigged games of chance. Harlots patrolled the room, milling around tables and sitting on laps.**

“Did you do any of that?” Grave asked. “Because if you’re taking orders -”

“ _Don’t say another word._ ”

Surprisingly, it didn’t come from Rowan, but Chaol, who lowered the book enough to shoot Grave a withering glare. “I, unlike you, am still at liberty to use my weapon, so you should think about your words carefully next time.”

Grave scoffed and rolled his eyes.

**Across from her, Rolfe grinned, and Sam drained the last from his mug. Or so Rolfe thought. Given how often drinks were spilled and splashed, no one really noticed the constant puddle around Sam’s mug, and the hole he’d drilled into the bottom of it was too small to detect.**

Renault raised an eyebrow. “You’re taking on an entire fleet and you won’t even let yourselves enjoy one last drink before you go to your deaths?”

Ignoring the way  _ death _ and  _ Sam _ associated herself in her mind, Celaena raised an eyebrow back in turn. “I’m still here, idiot. And no, we didn’t, because that gives us one more advantage over the pirates.”

**The crowd dispersed, and Celaena laughed as she raised her hand. “Another round, gentlemen?” she cried, signaling for the barmaid.**

**“Well,” Rolfe said, “I think it’s safe to say that I prefer you like this to when we’re discussing business.”**

**Sam leaned in, a conspirator’s grin on his face. “Oh, I do, too. She’s horrible most of the time.”**

**Celaena kicked him—hard enough, because she knew it wasn’t entirely a lie —and Sam yelped.**

“Does this mean we should get you drunk some time?” Nox asked with a hesitant note to his joking tone.

Celaena just flipped him the middle finger. “Yeah, right, Nox. Get Adarlan’s Assassin drunk in a room full of people she holds grudges against.  _ Great _ idea.”

But her eyes sparkled with mirth and Nox soon found himself grinning along with her.

... **“So, will I ever get to see the face behind the legendary Celaena Sardothien?” Rolfe leaned forward to rest his arms on the sodden table. The clock behind the bar read three thirty in the morning. They had to act soon. Given how crowded the tavern was, and how many of the pirates were already halfway unconscious, it was a miracle there was any ale left in Skull’s Bay. If Arobynn and Rolfe didn’t kill her for freeing the slaves, then Rolfe might very well murder her for starting a tab with not nearly enough money to pay for it all.**

Rowan groaned again and rubbed his forehead. “Why would you do it if you already knew what he’d do? Are you  _ intent _ on scaring another century off my life?”

Celaena shrugged. “In all honesty, I never thought I’d see him again. What was his reaction when he saw me?” She asked eagerly.

“No, absolutely not,” Rowan said. “Telling you will just give you ideas.”

As Celaena scowled, the other Champions exchanged looks. It was easy to forget, sometimes, in this magicless world, how long-lived the fae actually were. This male sitting at the table was undoubtedly centuries old, and would live for centuries more, and had probably seen things they could only dream of. And if he’d deemed  _ this _ war bad enough to warrant travelling to a continent where he could have been killed on sight…

As if coming to the same thought, Chaol’s throat bobbed roughly and he gripped his sword, as though reassuring himself it was still there.

**She leaned closer to Rolfe. “If you make my master and me as much money as you claim, I’ll show you my face.”**

**Rolfe glanced at the tattooed map on his hands.**

**“Did you really sell your soul for that?” she asked.**

**“When you show me your face, I’ll tell you the truth.”**

**She extended her hand. “Deal.”...**

This time Chaol joined Rowan in groaning in frustration at the lack of survival instincts this girl had.

**Sam raised his mug—already drained half an inch from the small hole in the bottom—and saluted their promise before both men drank. She fished out a pack of cards from a cloak pocket. “Care for a game of Kings?”**

**“If you aren’t beggared by the time this night is over,” Rolfe said, “then playing against me will guarantee it.”**

**She clicked her tongue. “Oh, I highly doubt that.” She broke and shuffled the deck three times and dealt the cards.**

**The hours passed by in a series of clanking glasses and perfect card suites, group singing sessions and tales of lands far and near, and as the clock was silenced by the never-ending music, Celaena found herself leaning into Sam’s shoulder, laughing as Rolfe finished his crude and absurd story of the farmer’s wife and her stallions.**

Choal cringed as he read it. The grimaces on the others’ faces told him that they’d probably gotten the same mental image he had.

**She banged her fist on the table, howling—and that wasn’t entirely an act, either. As Sam slipped a hand around her waist, his touch somehow sending a bright-hot flame through her, she had to wonder if he was still pretending, too.**

Rowan flexed his fingers and focused on evening out his breathing. 

**In terms of cards, it turned out to be Sam who took them for everything they were worth, and by the time the clock hands pointed to five, Rolfe had shifted into a foul mood.**

**Unfortunately for him, that mood wasn’t about to improve. Sam gave Celaena a nod, and she tripped a passing pirate, who spilled his drink on an already belligerent man, who in turn tried to punch him in the face but hit the man next to him instead. By luck, at that moment, a trick card fell out of a man’s sleeve, a prostitute slapped a pirate wench, and the tavern exploded into a brawl.**

Nehemia looked vaguely disturbed at the description of the fight that followed. “Is that all you need to do to start a fight in one of your bars?”

Nox shrugged. “Sometimes it takes even less than that, Highness. Men do foolish things when drunk.”

**...Rolfe, half-standing, put a hand on his hilt. Celaena gave him a nod before drawing her sword and charging into the brawling crowd.**

**With deft flicks of her wrist, she cut someone’s arm and ripped another’s leg open, but didn’t actually kill anyone. She just needed to keep the fight going— and escalate it enough—to hold all eyes on the town.**

**As she made to slip toward the exit, someone grabbed her around the waist and threw her into a wooden pillar so hard she knew she’d have a bruise.**

Dorian gripped the armrests of his throne. 

**She squirmed in the red-faced pirate’s grasp, nearly gagging as his sour breath seeped through her mask. She got her arm free enough to thrust the pommel of her sword between his legs. He dropped to the ground like a stone.**

Pelor winced and shifted farther back in his seat, away from her.

**Celaena barely got a step away before a hairy fist slammed into her jaw. Pain blinded her like lightning, and she tasted blood in her mouth. She quickly felt her mask to ensure it wasn’t cracked or about to fall off.**

Rowan swallowed the growl that had risen in his throat. Aelin would  _ not _ appreciate him overreacting for something that had happened so long ago, so he’d save his ire for when Arobynn Hamel showed up again or when Celaena was captured.

**Dodging the next blow, she swept her foot behind the man’s knee and sent him careening into a yowling cluster of harlots. She didn’t know where Sam had gone, but if he was sticking to the plan, then she didn’t need to worry about him. Weaving through the snarls of fighting pirates, Celaena headed toward the exit, clashing her blade against several unskilled swords.**

**A pirate with a frayed eye patch raised a clumsy hand to strike her, but Celaena caught it and kicked him in the stomach, sending him flying into another man. They both hit a table, flipped over it, and began fighting between themselves.**

Grave looked more interested in the story than he had been all day, a grin of wicked delight slowly spreading across his face.

**_Animals._ ** **Celaena stalked through the crowd and out the front door of the tavern.**

**To her delight, the streets weren’t much better. The fight had spread with astonishing speed. Up and down the avenue, pouring out of the other taverns, pirates wrestled and dueled and rolled on the ground. Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one eager for a fight.**

**Reveling in the mayhem, she was halfway down the street, headed toward the meet-up point with Sam, when Rolfe’s voice boomed out from behind her.**

**_“ENOUGH!”_ **

**Everyone lifted whatever they had in their hands—a mug, a sword, a clump of hair—and saluted.**

**And then promptly resumed fighting.**

Despite his usually formal demeanour, Telmor let out a bark of laughter.

Pelor fell into giggles soon after, and Celaena found herself grinning along at the memory.

**Laughing to herself, Celaena hurried down an alley. Sam was already there, blood seeping from his nose, but his eyes were bright.**

**“I’d say that went pretty well,” he said.**

**“I never knew you were such an expert card player.” She looked him up and down. His stance was steady. “Or an expert drunkard.”**

**He grinned. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Celaena Sardothien.”**

_ There had been so much she hadn’t known, and now would never get to know. _

**...“Ready?” he asked, and she nodded, looking to the lightening sky.**

**“Let’s go.” She pulled out of his grasp and yanked off her gloves, stuffing them in her pocket. “The watch at the tower must have changed by now. We’ve got until dawn to disable that chain and the catapults.” They’d debated for a while about whether it would be more useful to just destroy the chain from its unguarded opposite side. But even if they did, they’d still have the catapults to contend with. It was better to risk the guards and take out both the chain and the catapults at once.**

**...They turned onto a quiet street just as someone stepped out of the shadows.**

**“Going somewhere?”**

**It was Rolfe.**

“Oh crap,” Pelor said, then blushed when everyone turned to look at him. “I just - I meant - it was -”

Leaving him to his rambling, Chaol closed the book and held it aloft. “Who wants to read next?”

“I will,” Rowan said gruffly as he snatched the book from Chaol’s hand. “I don’t want any surprises in this chapter.”


	10. with the sword she seeks peace under liberty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is late and it's awful, but I've been really down lately and haven't had much inspiration, so this is what you're getting.

As Rowan flipped the page and began the new chapter, he glanced at Celaena out of the corner of his eyes, angry tension thrumming through his veins. If Rolfe laid a hand on her...

**Down the slope of the street, Celaena could perfectly see the two slave ships sitting—still unmoving—in the bay...**

**The sky had turned light gray. Dawn.**

“Why aren’t they moving?” Pelor’s voice was small.

“I don’t know,” Nox replied in a weary tone. It was the most defeated Celaena had ever seen him look.

**Celaena bowed her head to the Pirate Lord. “I’d rather not get my hands dirty in that mess.”**

**Rolfe’s lips formed a thin line. “Funny, given that you tripped the man who started the brawl.”**

“Leave it to you to mess things up,” Cain snorted.

Celaena hummed and picked the dirt out from beneath her fingernails. “To be fair, they began to fight out of their own free will.”

She revelled in the way that her lack of reaction made his face drop into a scowl.

**...Rolfe drew his sword, the dragon’s eyes gleaming in the growing light. “And also funny, since you’ve been spoiling for a fight for days, that you suddenly decided to vanish when everyone’s attention is elsewhere.”**

**Sam raised his hands. “We don’t want any trouble.” Rolfe chuckled, a harsh, humorless sound. “Maybe you don’t, Sam Cortland, but she does.”**

“He’s got that right,” Celaena said, not looking up from her hands. “It was getting boring waiting around in that shit-hole of a city.”

Rowan sighed imperceptibly behind the book.

**Rolfe stepped toward her, his sword dangling at his side. “She’s wanted trouble since the moment she got here. What was your plan? Steal treasure? Information?”**

**From the corner of her eye, something shifted in the ships. Like a bird flexing its wings, a row of oars shot out from their sides. They were ready. And the chain was still up.**

**_Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look …_ **

**But Rolfe looked, and Celaena’s breathing turned shallow as he scanned the ships.**

Nehemia’s whole body tensed, her jewelry jangling as her hands clutched the armrests tightly beneath the table.

Beside her, Nox leaned over slightly and whispered, “I’m sure Celaena will ensure their freedom, Highness.”

**Sam tensed, his knees bending slightly.**

**“I am going to kill you, Celaena Sardothien,” Rolfe breathed. And he meant it.**

“You’re growling, Rowan,” Celaena said, amusement coating her words.

Rowan paused. She was right, a low rumbling in his throat had bled out at the end of the last sentence. “Apologies, Celaena.”

“Is this about the death threats?” A smirk spread across her face. “Because I’ll be getting a lot more of those.”

Chaol was looking between the two of them, his brow furrowed, while Dorian sat on his throne, a frown deepening across his face.

**Celaena’s fingers tightened around her sword, and Rolfe opened his mouth, lungs filling with air as he prepared to shout a warning.**

**Quick as a whip, she did the only thing she could think of to distract him.**

“What did she do?” Pelor asked, eyes shining.

Rowan levelled a flat look at the boy. “If you’ll let me finish…” His voice trailed off. “ _ Dammit,  _ Celaena!”

“What did you do?” Renault asked, but Rowan didn’t give her a chance to respond before he read on.

**Her mask clattered to the ground, and she shook off her hood.**

“Do you have no sense of self-preservation, girl?” Telmor crossed his arms and shook his head.

Celaena shrugged. “It stopped him and gave Sam,” she stumbled slightly over his name. “Gave Sam time to escape.”

Nehemia grabbed Celaena’s hand and squeezed. She couldn’t offer much support in the position she found herself in, but she could reassure her friend that she was there.

**Rolfe froze. “You … You’re … What sort of trickery is this?”**

Renault’s mouth twitched. “I had never entertained the idea that Adarlan’s Assassin was a child until you revealed yourself to us.”

Despite internally seething at being called a child, Celaena managed a mocking smile. “Well that was the whole point, wasn’t it?”

**Beyond them, the oars began moving, churning the water as the boats turned toward the chain—and the freedom beyond it. “Go,” she murmured to Sam. “** **_Now._ ** **”**

**Sam only nodded before he sprinted down the street. Alone with Rolfe, Celaena raised her sword. “Celaena Sardothien, at your service.”**

**The pirate was still staring at her, his face pale with rage. “How dare you deceive me?”**

**She sketched a bow. “I did nothing of the sort. I told you I was beautiful.”**

Before Grave could open his mouth, Chaol glared at him.

“Think about your words wisely, Grave,” he said firmly.

**Before she could stop him, Rolfe shouted, “They’re trying to steal our ships! To your boats! To the watchtower!”**

**A roar erupted around them, and Celaena prayed that Sam could reach the watchtower before the pirates caught him.**

**Celaena began circling the Pirate Lord. He circled her, too. He wasn’t drunk in the least.**

“It seems three can play that game,” Nox said.

**“How old are you?” Each of his steps was carefully placed, but she noticed that he kept shifting to expose his left side.**

**“Sixteen.” She didn’t bother to keep her voice low and gravelly.**

**Rolfe swore. “Arobynn sent a sixteen-year-old to deal with me?”**

**“He sent the best of the best. Consider that an honor.”**

“He really should,” Celaena said, letting her hand drift up to rest on her chin. “It meant Arobynn judged him a worthy enough target to send me.”

She ignored the prickling  _ what-ifs _ in the back of her mind.

**With a growl, the Pirate Lord lunged.**

**She danced back, swinging up her sword to block the blow he aimed for her throat.**

Chaol leaned forward slightly. This was the first time they would be reading about her fighting in true combat with someone not trained in the same organization as her. Someone who could potentially match her stride and be her equal in a melee. He wondered if he’d learn anything that would help him continue to train her.

**She didn’t need to kill him right away—just to distract him long enough to prevent him from further organizing his men... She had to buy Sam enough time to disable the chain and the catapults...**

**Rolfe launched himself again, and she let him land two strikes on her sword before she ducked the third blow and slammed into him. She swept her foot, and Rolfe staggered back a step. Not missing a beat, she pulled out her long hunting knife, slashing for his chest…**

**Rolfe stumbled into the wall of a building behind him, but caught his footing and dodged the blow that would have taken off his head…**

Pelor was listening to her fighting with a slack jaw and she could see several guards shifting out of the corners of her eyes.

**“What was the plan?” Rolfe panted above the roar of the pirates rushing toward the docks. “Steal my slaves and take all the profit?”**

**She laughed, feinting to his right, but sweeping for his unprotected left with her dagger. To her surprise, Rolfe deflected both moves in a swift, sure motion.**

**“To free them,” she said…**

“Thank you,” Nehemia said quietly. “For giving them a chance that many would not.”

**“Fool,” Rolfe spat, and this time feinted so well that even Celaena couldn’t avoid the rake of his sword across her arm. Warm blood seeped through her black tunic. She hissed, darting away a few steps. A careless mistake.**

**“You think freeing two hundred slaves will solve anything?” Rolfe kicked a fallen bottle of liquor at her. She knocked it aside with the flat of her sword, her right arm screaming in pain. Glass shattered behind her. “There are thousands of slaves out there. Are you going to march into Calaculla and Endovier and free them, too?”**

All of a sudden, Celaena’s humour disappeared. She went ramrod-straight in her seat and a muscle in her jaw jumped. She clenched the armrests so tightly the wood groaned. Her eyes became haunted and determined.

She would find a way to free them someday, too, even if it meant she had to lead a revolution all on her own.

**Behind him, the steady strokes of the oars propelled the ships toward the chain. Sam had to hurry. Rolfe shook his head. “Stupid girl. If I don’t kill you, your master will.”**

Nox glanced at Celaena and winced. Somehow, her silence was more telling of the truth.

**Not him giving the luxury of a warning, she threw herself at him. She ducked, twirling, and Rolfe barely turned before she slammed the pommel of her sword into the back of his head.**

**The Pirate Lord crumpled to the dirt street just as a crowd of bloodied and filthy pirates appeared around the corner. Celaena only had time to throw her hood over her head, hoping the shadows concealed enough of her face, before she took off at a run.**

“Time skip,” Rowan grunted, still seething from what he’d just read. He wished he’d taken the time to punch Rolfe in Skull’s Bay.

**It didn’t take much to get away from a group of half-drunk battlecrazed pirates...**

**Pirates raged up and down the docks, seeking any boat that was in working order. That had been the final leg of her journey last night: disabling the rudders in all of the ships along the docks, including Rolfe’s own ship, the** **_Sea Dragon_ ** **— which honestly deserved to be tampered with, given that security on board had been so lax.**

Celaena was slowly coming back to herself and managed a smirk at Rolfe’s arrogance.

**But, despite the damage, some pirates managed to find rowboats and piled into them, brandishing swords or cutlasses or axes and shouting profanities to the high heavens...**

**The slaves still rowed for the chain as if demons from every Hellrealm were upon them.**

**Celaena charged down the road, heading for the edge of the town. With the sloping, wide-open road, she could see Sam racing far ahead—and a large group of pirates not too far behind him. The cut on her arm throbbed, but she pushed herself to run faster.**

**Sam had mere minutes to get that chain down, or else the slaves’ ships would shatter upon it.**

The room was silent, its occupants listening with rapt attention at the words Rowan read.

**Even if the slaves’ ships were able to stop before they hit it, there were enough smaller boats heading out that the pirates would overpower them. The pirates had weapons. Aside from whatever was onboard the ships, the slaves were unarmed, even if many of them had been warriors and rebels.**

Dorian shifted in his seat. The whole book still wasn’t sitting right with him - the slaves, and the underhand deals, and the things that happened both outside of Adarlan’s rule and under it.

**There was a flash of movement from the half-crumbling tower. Steel glimmered, and there was Sam, charging up the staircase that wound up the outside of the tower.**

**Two pirates rushed down the steps, swords raised. Sam dodged one, knocking him down with a swift strike to the spine. Before the pirate had even finished falling, Sam’s blade skewered the other man clean through the middle.**

Pelor went pale. 

**But there was still Ship-Breaker to disable, along with the two catapults, and —**

**And the dozen pirates who had now reached the foot of the tower.**

**Celaena cursed. She was still too far. There was no way she could make it in time to disable the chain—the ships would crash into it long before she got there.**

**...Sam, still a tiny figure in the distance, reached the top of the tower and the expanse of open stone where the anchor to the chain lay. Even from here, she could tell it was gargantuan. And as Sam rushed around it, hacking at whatever he could, throwing himself against the enormous lever, both of them realized the horrible truth, the one thing she’d overlooked: the chain was too heavy for one man to move.**

Grave scoffed. “You didn’t think about that  _ before _ you decided to start a city-wide brawl?”

Celaena glared at him.

**The slaves’ ships were close now. So close that stopping … stopping was impossible.**

**They were going to die.**

“Oh gods,” Pelor moaned.

**But the slaves didn’t cease rowing.**

“It’s better than the alternative,” Celaena muttered darkly, so quietly only Nehemia and Rowan, sitting on either side of her, heard.

**The dozen pirates were climbing the stairs. Sam had been trained to engage multiple men in combat, but a dozen pirates … Damn Rolfe and his men for delaying her!**

**Sam glanced toward the stairs. He knew about the pirates, too...**

**Sam slung himself down to the catapult level, and Celaena staggered a step as he hurled himself against the rotating platform on which the catapult sat, pushing, pushing, pushing until the catapult began to move—not toward the sea, but toward the tower itself, toward the spot in the stone wall where the chain was anchored.**

Telmor’s eyes widened as he realized what Sam was about to do.

**She didn’t dare take her attention from the tower as Sam heaved the catapult into position. A boulder had already been loaded, and in the glare of the rising sun, she could just make out the rope stretched taut to secure the catapult.**

**The pirates were almost at the catapult level. The two ships rowed faster and faster, the chain so close that its shadow loomed over them.**

**Celaena sucked in a breath as pirates poured onto the catapult landing, weapons held high.**

**Sam raised his sword. Light from the sunrise gleamed off the blade, bright as a star.**

“He’s not…” Renault trailed off, as though realizing that that was  _ exactly _ what Sam was doing.

**A warning cry broke from her lips as a pirate’s dagger flipped toward Sam. Sam brought his sword down on the catapult rope, doubling over. The catapult snapped so fast she could hardly follow the motion. The boulder slammed into the tower, shattering stone, wood, and metal. Rock exploded, dust clouding the air.**

**And with a boom that echoed across the bay, the chain collapsed, taking out a chunk of the tower—taking out the spot where she’d last seen Sam.**

Celaena could feel her heart racing. Tears pricked behind her eyelids. That hadn’t been where she’d lost Sam, but in those moments, she’d felt the same ungodly wrenching in her chest as her heart plummeted toward her stomach. 

And yet, even that didn’t compare to what it had felt like when she’d seen his body covered with a sheet in the Keep.

“Is this where you lost him?” Dorian asked quietly.

All the attention in the room was focused on her as she cleared her throat. “No, that - that comes later.”

**Celaena, reaching the tower at last, paused to watch as the white sails of the slaves’ ships unfurled, glowing golden in the sunrise.**

**The wind filled their sails and set them cruising, flying swiftly from the mouth of the bay and into the ocean beyond it. By the time the pirates fixed their ships, the slaves would be too far away to catch.**

**She murmured a prayer for them to find a safe harbor, her words carrying on the wings of the wind, and wished them well.**

Nehemia squeezed her hand in one final thank you, but even that gesture was subdued as she thought about her friend’s words.

**A block of stone crashed near her. Celaena’s heart gave a lurch. Sam.**

**He couldn’t be dead. Not from that dagger, or those dozen pirates, or from the catapult. No, Sam couldn’t be** **_so_ ** **stupid that he’d get himself killed. She’d … she’d … Well, she’d kill him if he was dead.**

_ Sam… dead… Gloriella and Jayne and Farran… there was so much blood… it couldn't have been quick… pain, so much pain _ .

A single tear brimmed in the corner of her eye.

**Drawing her sword despite the ache in her arm, she made to rush into the halfwrecked tower, but a dagger pressed against her neck halted her in her tracks.**

**“I don’t think so,” Rolfe whispered in her ear.**

The tear fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews might make me write faster ;)


	11. raise the flag of freedom high

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you guys are getting another chapter because I'm procrastinating composing my soundtrack for my music assignment xD

Celaena licked her dry lips and quickly brushed the tear from her cheek before anyone could notice. Sam hadn’t deserved the fate he’d met, but she _ refused _ to break down in front of the other Champions. He hadn’t died for her to become a blubbering mess every time his name was mentioned. 

Something cold burned in her chest, a fire of pure ice crackling in her heart and spreading outward through her veins. Freezing sparks snapped against the hot blood in her body, exposing everything in stark contrast. The room seemed to slow, the movement of the others around the table becoming sluggish and the air seeming to become stale. 

Her ears rang.

Farran still had to pay. Hell, there were a  _ lot  _ of people who would find themselves faced with her wrath, but Farran would be the first she went after and the slowest to die.

Tern, Mullin, and Harding would pay in their own due time, and she’d make sure they knew  _ exactly _ what they’d cost her that night.

She didn’t know if she could go through with reliving seeing Sam again. It might fracture that tiny sliver of humanity she was clinging to after the mines, might break her beyond repair.

_ No. _

_ I am Celaena Sardothien and I will not be afraid _ .

“I’ve found myself quite engaged in this story,” Dorian said, extending a hand for the book, oblivious to Celaena’s internal struggle. “I’ll read next.”

Rowan stood up and reached over to give the book to Dorian.

Celaena noted with interest the way his muscles rippled underneath his tunic when he stretched out toward the prince.

“Chapter ten,” Dorian said with a dramatic flourish of his hand.

**“You make a move, and I’ll spill your throat on the ground,” Rolfe hissed, his free hand ripping Celaena’s dagger from its sheath and tossing it into the brush. Then he took her sword, too.**

“Do you always find yourself in this much trouble?” Nehemia murmured.

Celaena shrugged. “Trouble always seems to find me.”

**“Why not just kill me right now?”**

**Rolfe’s breathy laugh tickled her ear. “Because I want to take a long, long while to enjoy killing you.”**

Rowan’s whole body tensed.

**She stared at the half-ruined tower, at the dust still swirling from the catapult’s destruction. How could Sam have survived that?**

**“Do you know how much your attempt at playing hero cost me?” Rolfe pushed his blade into her neck, and her skin split open with a stinging burst. “Two hundred slaves, plus two ships, plus the seven ships you disabled in the harbor, plus countless lives.”**

Renault let out a long whistle. “How are you not dead yet, Sardothien? You seem to enjoy making enemies - and you’re good at it, too.”

“Eh,” Celaena said, not the least bit fazed. “It comes with the profession.”

**She snorted. “Don’t forget the ale from last night.”**

Chaol groaned. “You’re not supposed to remind him.”

**Rolfe shifted his blade, digging in and making Celaena wince despite herself. “I’ll take that from your flesh, too, don’t worry.”**

“I would’ve done a lot more than that,” Cain growled, crossing his arms and scowling.

“That’s great to know, Cain,” Celaena said, keeping an eye on the way Rowan and Chaol tensed but maintaining a nonchalant facade. “Except, I don’t recall when I asked.”

“You  _ bitch! _ ” Cain snapped. Something dark was swirling in his eyes. “You deserved everything you got, and more!”

Celaena really thought Rowan was going to snap then - for some reason, he seemed to be completely over-protective of her - but she just rolled her eyes. “I could say the same for you, but that would mean I would have stooped to your level.” 

**“How’d you find me?” She needed time. Needed something to work with. If she moved the wrong way, she’d find herself with a cut throat.**

Pelor winced.

**“I knew you’d follow Sam. If you were so set on freeing the slaves, then you certainly wouldn’t leave your companion to die alone. Though I think you arrived a bit too late for that.”**

Celaena’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the table.

**In the dense jungle, the cries of birds and beasts slowly returned. But the watchtower remained silent, interrupted only by the hiss of crumbling stone.**

**“You’re going to return with me,” Rolfe said. “And after I’m done with you, I’ll contact your master to come pick up the pieces.”**

Dorian stumbled over those last few words. He didn’t know if he would ever get used to the blatant threats on Celaena’s life that seemed to be a constant in her life.

**Rolfe took a step, pivoting them toward the town, but Celaena had been waiting.**

**Throwing her back into his chest, she hooked her foot behind his. Rolfe stumbled, tripping over her leg, and she wedged her hand between her neck and his dagger just as he remembered to act on his promise to slit her throat.**

Celaena winced, remembering the sting of the blade slicing deep across her palm. It was honestly a wonder that she hadn’t lost more blood that day.

**Blood from her palm splattered down her tunic, but she shoved the pain aside and butted her elbow into his stomach...**

**She grabbed his fallen dagger as the Pirate Lord reached for his sword. He scrambled to his knees, lunging for her, but she stomped her foot down upon his sword, sending it crashing to the ground. Rolfe raised his head just in time for her to knock him onto his back. Crouching over him, she held his dagger to his neck.**

Pelor glanced at her fearfully, his eyes wide.

**“Well,** **_that_ ** **didn’t go the way you expected, did it?” she asked, listening for a moment to ensure no pirates were about to come crashing down the road…**

**“So,” she said, her smirk widening at the blood dripping from his nose. “This is what’s going to happen.” She dropped his collar and fished out the two papers from inside her tunic. Compared to the pain in her hand, the injury on her arm had faded to a dull pulsing. “You are going to sign these and stamp each with your seal.”**

Nehemia’s eyes widened. “You didn’t…”

Rowan gave an exasperated sigh. “She did.”

“What did you do?” Chaol asked, looking between Celaena and Rowan.

Celaena was about to answer when Rowan spoke first. “If you let the prince read, I’m sure it will explain.”

**“I refuse,” Rolfe seethed.**

**“You don’t even know what they say.” She pushed the tip of the dagger into his heaving throat. “So allow me to clarify: one of these is a letter to my master. It says that the deal is over, that you won’t be sending him slaves, and if you catch him entering into another slave-trade agreement with anyone else, you’ll bring your whole armada to punish him.”**

Telmor barked out a laugh as Dorian continued to read, his voice rising as she unveiled her plan.

**Rolfe choked. “You’re insane.”**

**“Maybe,” she said.**

“You definitely are,” Grave scowled.

**“But I’m not done yet.” She picked up the second letter. “This one … I wrote this one for you. I did my best to try to write it in your voice, but you’ll forgive me if it’s a tad more elegant than you’re used to being.”**

Pelor sucked on his lip, trying to hide a grin.

**Rolfe struggled, but she pushed the blade a little harder, and he stopped. “Basically,” she said, sighing dramatically, “this one says that you, Captain Rolfe, bearer of the magical map inked on your hands, will never, ever sell a slave again. And if you catch any pirates selling or transporting or trading slaves, you’ll hang, burn, or drown them yourself. And that Skull’s Bay is forevermore a safe haven for any slaves fleeing Adarlan’s clutches.”**

“Damn,” Nox said, summing up what everyone was thinking. “You were really serious.”

Celaena looked offended. “Of course I was serious. I may kill people, but only those who deserve it. I  _ do _ have a moral code, you know, and innocents are under my protection.”

**Rolfe practically had steam blowing out his ears. “I won’t sign either of them, you stupid girl. Don’t you know who I am?”**

**“Fine,” she said, angling the blade to sink into his flesh more easily. “I memorized your signature when I was in your office that first day. It won’t be hard to forge. And as for your seal ring …” She removed something else from her pocket. “I also took that the first day in your office, just in case I needed it. Turns out I was right.”**

“Oh!” Pelor exclaimed, jumping in his seat. “ _ That’s _ what you stole from him on the first day!”

**Rolfe croaked as she held it up in her free hand, the garnet flashing in the light. “I figure I can return to town and tell your cronies that you decided to set sail after those slaves, and to expect you back in … I don’t know—six months? A year? Long enough that they won’t notice the grave I’ll dig for you right off the road here.**

“Would that work?” Chaol asked, frowning. “Wouldn’t his crew look for him.”

Celaena shook her head. “It works especially well when you have a group of underlings desperate to find anyway to claw their way to power. Besides,” she said with a wicked grin. “The storms around Skulls Bay get really bad. It would have been a  _ shame _ if his ship were to run aground on a sand bank.”

“Ah,” Chaol said, looking vaguely disturbed.

**Frankly, you’ve seen who I am, and I should end your life for it. But consider it a favor—and a promise that if you don’t follow my orders, I’ll change my decision to spare you.”**

**Rolfe’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Why?”**

**“You’ll have to clarify that.”**

**He took a breath. “Why go to so much trouble for slaves?”**

_ The fact that a person has to question that at all is disgusting _ .

Celaena didn’t voice that, of course. Not here, not now, not when questioning the empire was a death sentence. But someday, the slaves would all be free.

She would bathe in the blood of their oppressors if that was what it took to end slavery. She swore it.

**“Because if we don’t fight for them, who will?” She pulled a fountain pen from her pocket. “Sign the papers.”**

**Rolfe raised an eyebrow. “And how will you know that I’m holding true to my word?”**

**She removed the dagger from his throat, using the blade to brush back a strand of his dark hair. “I have my sources. And if I hear that you’re trading slaves, no matter where you go, no matter how far you run, I will hunt you down. That’s twice now I’ve disabled you. The third time, you won’t be so lucky. I swear that on my name. I’m almost seventeen, and I can already wallop you; imagine how good I’ll be in a few years.” She shook her head. “I don’t think you’ll want to try me now—and certainly not then.”**

Rowan nodded firmly. “You got better -  _ much  _ better.”

The champions exchanged glances. They’d seen what Celaena had done to Cain and what she was doing to those who crossed her in the books, and if this fae prince said she would get better… It was a terrifying thought.

**Rolfe stared at her for a few heartbeats. “If you ever set foot in my territory again, your life is forfeit.” He paused, then muttered, “May the gods help Arobynn.”**

“May the gods damn him to all Hell,” Rowan growled, his eyes flashing.

Celaena hummed. “That does sound like more fun.”

If what she thought was true, he deserved far worse.

**He took the pen. “Any other requests?”**

**She eased off him, but kept the dagger in her hand. “Why, yes,” she said. “A ship would be nice.”**

**Rolfe only glared at her before he grabbed the documents.**

“Did you just seriously piss off one of the last free rulers on the continent?” Pelor asked.

Celaena let out a sharp peal of laughter. “ _ Rolfe?  _ He’s as much a ruler as I am a lady of the court.”

“There’s a time skip here,” Dorian said, turning the page, pushing down the thought of Celaena as a member of his court.

**When Rolfe had signed, stamped, and handed the documents to Celaena, she took the liberty of knocking him out again…**

**She raced up the half-crumbling stairs of the tower, leaping over pirate corpses and chunks of stone, not stopping until she found the crushed bodies of the dozen pirates who were closest to Sam and the ruins of the catapults. Blood, bone, squished bits of flesh that she didn’t particularly care to look at for too long …**

Nehemia looked faintly sick.

**“Sam!” she shouted, slipping over a bit of debris. She heaved a slab of wood off the side, scanning the landing for any sign of him. “Sam!”**

**Her hand began bleeding again, leaving smears of blood as she turned over stone and wood and metal. Where** **_was_ ** **he?**

**It had been her plan. If one of them had to die for it, it should have been her. Not him.**

_ But he did, but he had -  _

**She reached the second catapult, its entire frame snapped in half from a fallen piece of tower. She’d last seen him here. A slab of stone jutted up from where it had hit the landing. It was large enough to have squashed someone beneath.**

Telmor grimaced.

**She hurled herself against it, her feet sliding against the ground as she pushed and pushed and pushed. The stone didn’t move.**

**Grunting, gasping, she shoved harder. Still the stone was too large.**

**Cursing, she beat a fist against the gray surface, her injured hand aching in protest…**

**“For some reason, I don’t think that’s going to make the rock move,” said a voice, and Celaena whirled.**

**Emerging from the other side of the landing was Sam. He was covered head to toe in gray dust, and blood leaked from a cut in his forehead, but he was …**

**She lifted her chin. “I’ve been shouting for you.”**

**Sam shrugged, sauntering over to her. “I figured you could wait a few minutes, given that I saved the day and all.” His brows rose high on his ash-covered face.**

“That was an ass-hole move,” Celaena grumbled. How she wished Sam could do that one more time. She might not even complain that much if he did.

**...Sam smiled, his brown eyes turning golden in the dawn. It was such a** **_Sam_ ** **look, the twinkle of mischief, the hint of exasperation, the kindness that would always,** **_always_ ** **make him a better person than she was.**

He had been such a good person; he’d brought out the humanity in a girl who was slowly losing her grip on what it meant to  _ live _ .

**Before she knew what she was doing, Celaena threw her arms around him and held him close.**

Grave let out a bark of laughter. It grated on her ears like a sword screeching against brick. “Aww, did you  _ like him _ ?”

Celaena stiffened but refused to give him the upper hand. “I did. What of it?”

“Well,” he smirked, “You-”

He didn’t get any farther before Rowan shot him with a piercing glare and bared his teeth.

Grave clenched his jaw and fell silent.

**...“Sam,” she murmured into his chest.**

**“Hmm?”**

**She peeled away from him, stepping out of his arms. “If you ever tell anyone about me embracing you … I’ll gut you.”**

“Too late,” Grave sang, something feral in his expression.

**...“Come on, Sardothien,” he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “If you’re done liberating slaves and destroying pirate cities, then let’s go home.”**

Celaena winced, remembering the explosive force of Arobynn’s fists against her face and ribs. She still had a faded scar from where one of Arobynn’s many rings had cut her brow. He’d almost certainly cracked several of her ribs and one of her cheekbones that day, whether or not it had been intentional. 

She was  _ not  _ looking forward to reading about that in a group full of people who would stab her in the back at their first chance.

**Celaena glanced at him sidelong and grinned.**

Dorian turned the page and blinked in surprise. “It’s the start of a new book - well, a novella. It’s called  _ The Assassin and the Healer _ .”

Everyone turned to Celaena but she looked just as mystified as them.


	12. paved with good intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My prom was supposed to be today :/

“I have no idea who this could be,” Celaena said, crossing her arms. “But regardless, I guess we’re going to find out.”

Cain snorted. “It’s  _ your _ life, you should know it better than anyone.”

“Yeah,” Celaena retorted, “Except  _ way _ too much happens for me to remember every person I met.”

“Please,” Dorian made a placating gesture with his hands. “Let’s just get on with the reading.”

“Fine,” Celaena spat, her hands trembling ever so slightly. “Hand the book over, I’ll read.”

Beside her, Nehemia blinked in surprise but said nothing. Celaena wasn’t in the mood to argue with anyone at that moment. The last few chapters had been mentally exhausting and she was sure the rest of the reading would be much the same. She was just ready to get it over with.

Dorian passed the book down the table and Celaena opened it. “ _ The Assassin and the Healer _ . Chapter one.”

**The strange young woman had been staying at the White Pig Inn for two days now and had hardly spoken to anyone save for Nolan, who had taken one look at her fine night-dark clothes and bent over backward to accommodate her.**

“Who would that be?” Nox asked. “The woman dressed in black, I mean.”

“No clue,” Celaena said. “But I do remember the White Pig. I would  _ not _ recommend those lodgings if you find yourself in Innish.”

**He gave her the best room at the Pig—the room he only offered to patrons he intended to bleed dry—and didn’t seem at all bothered by the heavy hood the young woman wore or the assortment of weapons that gleamed along her long, lean body. Not when she tossed him a gold coin with a casual flick of her gloved fingers. Not when she was wearing an ornate gold brooch with a ruby the size of a robin’s egg.**

“Never mind,” Celaena didn’t take her eyes off the page. “It’s me.”

“Why in the name of the gods would you wear a gold and ruby brooch in  _ Innish _ ?” Telmor asked, looking at Celaena as though she had a death wish.

Celaena shrugged. “Arobynn had given it to me as a birthday present and I was  _ not _ on good terms with him at this time, so I didn’t particularly care if it was stolen. Besides,” she amended. “I was spoiling for a fight.”

Telmor’s brows furrowed and he looked like he was about to ask another question, but Celaena read over him.

**Then again, Nolan was never really afraid of anyone, unless they seemed likely not to pay him—and even then, it was anger and greed, not fear, that won out.**

**Yrene Towers had been watching the young woman from the safety of the taproom bar.**

“She was a foolish, foolish woman,” Celaena said off-handedly in a tone that held both admiration and frustration and made every Champion go silent.

**Watching, if only because the stranger was young and unaccompanied and sat at the back table with such stillness that it was impossible** **_not_ ** **to look. Not to wonder.**

**Yrene hadn’t seen her face yet, though she’d caught a glimpse every now and then of a golden braid glinting from the depths of her black hood. In any other city, the White Pig Inn would likely be considered the lowest of the low as far as luxury and cleanliness were concerned. But here in Innish, a port town so small it wasn’t on most maps, it was considered the finest.**

“So one should just skip Innish all together?” Nehemia asked.

Celaena shook her head. “Unless you feel like trekking through the jungle to get to the south-west side of the continent, you’re really stuck with this as your only option.”

**Yrene glanced at the mug she was currently cleaning and tried not to wince. She did her best to keep the bar and taproom clean, to serve the Pig’s patrons— most of them sailors or merchants or mercenaries who often thought** **_she_ ** **was up for purchase as well—with a smile.**

Rowan’s grip on the armrests tightened at the thought of the Yrene  _ he _ knew and he found his lips peeled back in the ghost of a snarl. Even if Yrene was Chaol’s wife and would be spending more time around Adarlan’s Court than Terrasen’s, Aelin still considered her a good friend and made a point to let her know that she would always be welcome in Orynth, so she was under their Court’s protection as well. And Rowan was sitting here, hearing about what was bound to be a whole slew of awful things that happened to her, and  _ he couldn’t do a gods-damned thing _ .

Rowan glanced at the Captain next to him, who was listening to the reading with a vigilant sort of disinterest, and wondered what his Chaol would be doing in this Chaol’s position.

**But Nolan still watered down the wine, still washed the sheets only when there was no denying the presence of lice and fleas, and sometimes used whatever meat could be found in the back alley for their daily stew.**

Pelor made a face. “I won’t go there, duly noted.”

**Yrene had been working here for a year now—eleven months longer than she had intended—and the White Pig still sickened her...**

**The stranger at the back table lifted her head, signaling with a gloved finger for Yrene to bring another ale. For someone who didn’t seem older than twenty, the young woman drank an ungodly amount—wine, ale, whatever Nolan bade Yrene bring over—but never seemed to lose herself to it.**

Chaol sighed. “Why do I get the feeling that it’s more practice than anything?”

Celaena grinned. “Well, that and the barkeep watered down the rutting stuff.”

**It was impossible to tell with that heavy hood, though. These past two nights she’d merely stalked back to her room with a feline grace, not stumbling over herself like most of the patrons on their way out after last call.**

Grave rolled his eyes. What was the point in going to a bar if you weren’t going to get so pissed that you barely made it out the door after?

**Yrene quickly poured ale into the mug she’d just been drying and set it on a tray. She added a glass of water and some more bread, since the girl hadn’t touched the stew she’d been given for dinner. Not a single bite. Smart woman.**

Celaena screwed up her face. “Yeah, I don’t even want to know what was in that stew.”

Dorian just looked absolutely revolted.

**Yrene wove through the packed taproom, dodging the hands that tried to grab her. Halfway through her trek, she caught Nolan’s eye from where he sat by the front door. An encouraging nod, his mostly bald head gleaming in the dim light.** **_Keep her drinking. Keep her buying._ **

**...Most of her money came from tips, but Nolan claimed half of them. And then Jessa, the other barmaid, usually claimed two-thirds of what remained, because, as Jessa often said,** **_she_ ** **was the** **_pretty face that gets the men to part with their money_ ** **,** **_anyway._ **

Nehemia pursed her lips but said nothing.

**One glance into a corner revealed that pretty face and its attendant body perched on the lap of a bearded sailor, giggling and tossing her thick brown curls. Yrene sighed through her nose but didn’t complain, because Jessa was Nolan’s favorite, and Yrene had nowhere—absolutely nowhere—left to go. Innish was her home now, and the White Pig was her haven. Outside of it, the world was too big, too full of splintered dreams and armies that had crushed and burned everything Yrene held dear.**

Dorian, Chaol, and Telmor winced imperceptibly.

**Yrene at last reached the stranger’s table and found the young woman looking up at her. “I brought you some water and bread, too,” Yrene stammered by way of greeting. She set down the ale, but hesitated with the other two items on her tray.**

**The young woman just said, “Thank you.” Her voice was low and cool— cultured. Educated. And completely uninterested in Yrene…**

Grave shrugged. “She sounds too plain anyways. Too boring.”

Rowan growled and pinned the assassin with a glare that would have made Hellas freeze over.

**So, Yrene set down the bread and water and took the empty mug from where the girl had pushed it to the center of the table. But curiosity won out, and she peered into the black depths beneath the young woman’s cowl. Nothing but shadows, a gleam of gold hair, and a hint of pale skin. She had so many questions—so, so many questions.** **_Who are you? Where do you come from? Where are you going? Can you use all those blades you carry?_ **

“Adarlan’s Assassin,” Celaena answered Yrene’s unspoken questions with a dramatic rolled of her eyes. “Adarlan. At that moment? Yurpa. Yes, and you’d best learn that quickly. There’s also a time skip here - and it seems to switch back to me again.  _ Wonderful _ .”

**....Celaena Sardothien sat at her table in the absolutely worthless inn, wondering how her life had gone to hell so quickly.**

Nox raised an eyebrow. “I think we’re all asking that about ourselves.”

**She hated Innish. Hated the reek of trash and filth, hated the heavy blanket of mist that shrouded it day and night, hated the second-rate merchants and mercenaries and generally miserable people who occupied it.**

Renault frowned. “I’ve done business in Innish before,” he protested, sounding vaguely offended.

Celaena just lowered the book and gave him a dead-pan stare.

**No one here knew who she was, or why she’d come; no one knew that the girl beneath the hood was Celaena Sardothien, the most notorious assassin in Adarlan’s empire. But then again, she didn’t want them to know.** **_Couldn’t_ ** **let them know, actually. And didn’t want them knowing that she was just over a week away from turning seventeen, either.**

“Happy early and late birthday,” Pelor said with a smile.

Celaena blinked. “Thanks? You  _ do _ know this happened over a year ago, right?”

“Mhmm,” Pelor hummed in agreement, still smiling.

**...She would have left if she’d had any choice. But she was forced to be here, thanks to her master, Arobynn Hamel, King of the Assassins. She’d always been proud of her status as his chosen heir—always flaunted it. But now … This journey was her punishment for destroying his atrocious slave-trade agreement with the Pirate Lord of Skull’s Bay.**

Nox winced, but Nehemia squeezed her free hand in thanks.

**...Celaena sat back in her seat, watching the barmaid with the brown-gold hair slip through the labyrinth of tables and chairs. The girl nimbly dodged the men who groped her, all without disturbing the tray she carried over her shoulder. What a waste of swift feet, good balance, and intelligent, stunning eyes. The girl wasn’t dumb. Celaena had noted the way she watched the room and its patrons —the way she watched Celaena herself. What personal hell had driven her to work here?**

Pelor gave a cough that sounded suspiciously like  _ Adarlan _ , before yelping as Renault’s foot connected hard with his shin.

**Celaena didn’t particularly care. The questions were mostly to drive the boredom away. She’d already devoured the three books she’d carried with her from Rifthold, and not one of the shops in Innish had a single book for sale— only spices, fish, out-of-fashion clothing, and nautical gear. For a port town, it was pathetic. But the Kingdom of Melisande had fallen on hard times in the past eight and a half years—since the King of Adarlan had conquered the continent and redirected trade through Eyllwe instead of Melisande’s few eastern ports.**

Nehemia frowned. That had made her country prosper, yes, but to do so at the expense of another tainted the victory.

Dorian scratched his neck.

**The whole world had fallen on hard times, it seemed. Celaena included.**

**She fought the urge to touch her face. The swelling from the beating Arobynn had given her had gone down, but the bruises remained.**

“He  _ beat _ you?” Chaol asked, his voice deadly quiet. The silence before the storm.

Celaena shrugged and wouldn’t meet his eyes even as her cheeks reddened in shame. “I cost him several thousand gold pieces, he was understandably mad.”

“And Sam?” Nox asked, his jaw tense.

Celaena winced and just continued reading.

**She avoided looking in the sliver of mirror above her dresser, knowing what she’d see: mottled purple and blue and yellow along her cheekbones, a vicious black eye, and a still-healing split lip.**

Pelor hissed in sympathy.

Rowan felt ice spread through his veins, a frozen crackling that started low in his gut and travelled up to his chest. He glanced down and quickly leashed his magic, melting the fractals of frost that had become to accumulate on the armrests of his chair.

Arobynn Hamel may be dead in his world, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t make the King of Assassins  _ pay _ for what he’d done to Aelin, to the girl he’d broken and shaped into a weapon so unrecognizable that it took another tragedy for her to crumble and begin to forge anew.

**It was all a reminder of what Arobynn had done the day she returned from Skull’s Bay—proof of how she’d betrayed him by saving two hundred slaves from a terrible fate. She had made a powerful enemy of the Pirate Lord, and she was fairly certain she’d ruined her relationship with Arobynn, but she had been right. It was worth it; it would always be worth it, she told herself.**

“It would always be worth it,” Celaena said firmly in a tone that left no room for discussion.

**Even if she was sometimes so angry that she couldn’t think straight. Even if she’d gotten into not one, not two, but three bar fights in the two weeks that she’d been traveling from Rifthold to the Red Desert. One of the brawls, at least, had been rightfully provoked: a man had cheated at a round of cards. But the other two …**

Nox glanced at her.

**There was no denying it: she’d merely been spoiling for a fight. No blades, no weapons. Just fists and feet. Celaena supposed she should feel bad about it— about the broken noses and jaws, about the heaps of unconscious bodies in her wake. But she didn’t.**

**She couldn’t bring herself to care, because those moments she spent brawling were the few moments she felt like herself again. When she felt like Adarlan’s greatest assassin, Arobynn Hamel’s chosen heir.**

She couldn’t bear the pity she saw in Telmor’s eyes and she lifted the book higher and continued reading, giving them no time to comment.

**...She’d made no secret of the fact that she carried money with her.**

Rowan groaned and muttered something along the lines of  _ of all the places… _

**And her clothes and weapons spoke volumes about her wealth, too. The ruby brooch she wore practically begged for trouble—she wore it to** **_invite_ ** **trouble, actually…**

**And before she decided she was bored of fighting only with fists and feet. She glanced at the sword by her side; it glinted in the tavern’s dank light.**

“You’re going to get in another fight, aren’t you?” Chaol sighed.

“Well, yes,” Celaena conceded after a moment of hesitation. “But this time it wasn’t actually my fault!”

Dorian snorted quietly.

**But she would be leaving at dawn—to sail to the Deserted Land, where she’d make the journey to the Red Desert to meet the Mute Master of Assassins…**

“No way!” Grave was practically frothing at the mouth. “He wouldn’t train a bitch like you - a self-entitled  _ girl _ masquerading as an assassin.”

Before Chaol or Rowan could react, Celaena just raised an eyebrow and patted the sword at her hip. “If that’s what you believe, then why don’t we see what I  _ actually  _ learned in the Red Desert.”

Grave huffed, but cast one look at the smooth leather scabbard at her side and the dark, wicked-looking pommels of the long hunting daggers strapped over her back, and snapped his mouth shut.

**If she were being honest with herself, though, she’d started entertaining the thought of** **_not_ ** **going to the Red Desert.**

Chaol raised an eyebrow.

**It was tempting. She could take a ship somewhere else—to the southern continent, perhaps—and start a new life. She could leave behind Arobynn, the Assassins’ Guild, the city of Rifthold, and Adarlan’s damned empire.**

Celaena gave a quiet little snort at how little her dreams had changed in the time since she was Arobynn’s heir.

Freedom; that was all she ever wanted. Freedom and safety.

**There was little stopping her, save for the feeling that Arobynn would hunt her down no matter how far she went.**

“Would he?” Dorian asked with a deep frown on his face.

“Undoubtedly,” Celaena answered. “I was still in debt to him.”

He winced at the reminder.

**And the fact that Sam … well, she didn’t know what had happened to her fellow assassin that night the world had gone to hell.**

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s dead,” Pelor piped up, only to be shushed by Nox.

Celaena swallowed past the lump in her throat. “No, not yet. But this is the start of it.”

Her voice trembled and she bit her lip harshly, hoping no one had heard. It was hard enough being the only female Champion and the only one to have their  _ entire _ fucking _ life story read out in front of everyone _ without succumbing to tears.

**...If she were smart, if she were levelheaded, she would avoid any confrontation tonight and leave Innish in peace, no matter where she went.**

“But you’re not going to do that,” Rowan guessed with an exhausted sigh.

“Nope,” Celaena said with a forced grin.

**But she wasn’t feeling particularly smart, or levelheaded—certainly not once the hours passed and the air in the inn shifted into a hungry, wild thing that howled for blood.**

Celaena sighed. “Nox, you’re reading next.”

He raised a confused eyebrow. “Don’t I get a choice in the matter?”

“If I have to have books about  _ my _ life read out loud to my enemies,” she said, sliding the book across the table to him. “You can suck it up and read.” 


	13. i will not forget the faces left behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *blows noise maker and throws confetti* CONGRATULATIONS TO THE CLASS OF 2020!!!!! We did it! We graduated against all odds! It was a rough last few months, but we did it!!! Yay us!!! *throws more confetti*

“Fine,” Nox said. He picked up the book and turned the page to the next chapter. “But I’m choosing who’s reading next. Chapter two.”

**Yrene didn’t know how or when it happened, but the atmosphere in the White Pig changed. It was as if all the gathered men were waiting for something. The girl at the back was still at her table, still brooding. But her gloved fingers were tapping on the scarred wooden surface, and every now and then, she shifted her hooded head to look around the room.**

Rowan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is it too much to hope that you did the smart thing and left before a brawl broke out?”

**...Yrene kept looking at the hooded girl. So did many of the tavern’s patrons.**

Chaol let out a silent groan.

**Were they waiting for her to get u[p? There were some thieves that she recognized - thieves who had been circling like vultures for the past two days. Trying to figure out whether the strange girl could use the weapons she carried. It was common knowledge that she was leaving tomorrow at dawn.**

Telmor stared at her with an incredulous look on his face. “It was… common knowledge?” he asked carefully.

Celaena shrugged. “I made it no secret. I was  _ bored _ , what else was I supposed to do but bait a bunch of idiots into a fight?”

He looked like he was going to answer that, then changed his mind.

**If they wanted her money, jewelry, weapons, or something far darker, tonight would be their last chance.**

Rowan’s hands twitched toward his sword belt.

**Yrene chewed on her lip as she poured a round of ales for the table of four mercenaries playing Kings. She should warn the girl - tell her that she might be better off sneaking to her ship right now, before she wound up with a slit throat.**

“That was nice of her,” Pelor said, but he was looking hesitantly at Celaena, waiting for a reaction.

She kept her face perfectly neutral.

**But Nolan would throw Yrene out into the streets if he knew she had warned her...**

**Yrene swallowed hard, pouring another mug of ale. Her mother wouldn’t have hesitated to warn the girl.**

**But her mother had been a good woman - a woman who never wavered, who never turned away a sick or wounded person, no matter how poor, from the door of their cottage in southern Fenharrow. Never.**

_ Had been _ . Rowan’s chest suddenly felt tight with sympathy for his friend. 

**As a prodigiously gifted healer blessed with no small amount of magic, her mother had always said that it wasn’t right to charge people for what she’d been given for free by Silba, the Goddess of Healing.**

“A healer,” Cain said, tilting his head in interest. His expression was unreadable, but something dark flashed in his eyes. Something malevolent and eerily ancient that took far too much interest in this particular person Celaena had met in passing so many months ago.

**And the only time she’d seen her mother falter was the day the soldiers from Adarlan surrounded their house, armed to the teeth and bearing torches and wood.**

Nox grimace behind the book.

**They hadn’t bothered to listen when her mother explained that her power, like Yrene’s, had already disappeared months before, along with the rest of the magic in the land - abandoned by the gods, her mother had claimed.**

Rowan snorted loudly, his arms crossed and a bitter look on his face.

**No, the soldiers hadn’t listened at all. And neither had any of those vanished gods to whom her mother and Yrene had pleaded for salvation.**

Celaena wasn’t so foolish as to curse the gods out loud, but within the privacy of her mind she ran through every expletive she knew - which was a lot - and damned the gods to all hell for their apathy, for their disinterest in the world they’d created.

Chaol clenched the armrests of his chair. It was less common now that years had passed since magic disappeared, but he’d hear stories from visiting soldiers or members of his guard who had been soldiers before of the horrors that they’d witnessed in the quest to rid the empire of magic-wielders.

Behind the guise of an uninterested face, Dorian swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He’d know, again, just what his country had been doing, but it was different when a name, a face, a  _ person _ , was put to the statistics. Suddenly, it was no longer a set of numbers inked in a letter to his father, suddenly it was no longer part of his political history lessons with his tutors, suddenly it became a family torn apart unjustly by  _ his _ empire’s pride.

He’d always wished to be a better king than his father, but if  _ this _ was what he was raised to, if he could spend nineteen years without giving the matter a second thought… He glanced down at his signet ring and ran his thumb over the polished gold wyvern.

**It was the first - and only - time her mother took a life.**

**Yrene could still see the glint of the hidden dagger in her mother’s hand, still feel the blood of that soldier on her bare feet, hear her mother scream at her to** **_run_ ** **, smell the smoke of the bonfire as they burned her gifted mother alive while Yrene wept from the nearby safety of Oakwald Forest.**

“That is barbaric,” Nehemia whispered in Eyllwe. Her face was slack and pale, as though all the blood had drained from her skin.

Celaena squeezed her hand, her chest tight.

**It was from her mother thatYrene had inherited her iron stomach - but she’d never thought those solid nerves would wind up keeping her here, claiming this hovel as her home.**

**Yrene was so lost in thought and memory that she didn’t notice the man until a broad hand was wrapped around her waist.**

Pelor’s face twisted in disgust.

**“We could use a pretty face at his table,” he said, grinning up at her with a wolf’s smile. Yrene stepped back, but he held firm, trying to yank her into his lap.**

**“I’ve work to do,” she said as blandly as possible. She’d detangled herself from situations like this before - countless times now. It had stopped scaring her long ago.**

**“You can go to work on me,” said another of the mercenaries, a tall man with a worn-looking blade strapped to his back…**

Something deep in his chest growled and Rowan clenched his jaw tight.

Grave was snickering quietly to himself and Celaena felt her fingers drift toward her sword of their own accord.

**...“What are you doing after?” said another.**

**“Going home to my husband,” she lied. But they looked at the ring on her finger - the ring that now passed for a wedding band. It had belonged to her mother, and her mother’s mother, and all the great women before her, all such brilliant healers, all wiped from living memory.**

Somewhere buried so far within herself that Celaena hardly dared think about it, about  _ herself _ , her mother’s blood ebbed and flowed with a non-existent tide, that single droplet of magic that had been her salvation, her sanity, remembered a time when she’d wanted to heal, to train with all the greats at the Torre Cesme herself, be something other than what her destiny forced her to be.

That had happened, but not in the way she’d wanted, and the closet she could come to healing in her profession was the promise of a swift death.

**The men scowled, and taking that as a cue to leave, Yrene hurried back to the bar. She didn’t warn the girl - didn’t make the trek across the too-big taproom, with all those men waiting like wolves.**

**Forty minutes. Just another forty minutes until she could kick them all out.**

**And then she could clean up and tumble into bed, one more day finished in this living hell that had somehow become her future.**

“Time skip,” said Nox. “It’s actually quite interesting to hear this story from a different point of view.”

Celaena whipped her head toward him and he back-pedaled quickly. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just… Yrene’s perspective is full of bitter hopefulness, and you’re… I guess the best way to describe it would be resigned wistfulness. She still has hope for the future, and it looks like you can’t imagine a future past tomorrow.”

A lump formed in her throat and she quickly swallowed it down. “Well, this was the year that everything went to hell, so I think I’m justified.” There was a resentful tone in her voice, brittle and cracked, as though it could shatter at any moment. “You don’t tend to live long in this career.”

Cain sneered at her, which she focused on rather than Pelor’s trembling lips and shining eyes. “You were meant to die when you were eight.”

A chilling calm flowed through her veins. “ _ Excuse me? _ ”

“How did it feel to wake up in your parents’ blood?” Cain gnashed his teeth in a vicious smile. “Remember when you drowned in a frozen river? What did it feel like when you started choking on water because there was no air to be found?”

“You  _ dare- _ ”

Before anyone could react, Celaena grabbed Cain’s shoulders and threw him from his seat with more force than her lithe body seemed to possess. He hit the ground with a grunt and spit blood from between his teeth.

Good. She hoped he’d bitten his tongue clean off.

“How do you live with knowing that you left your mother’s dearest friend to die while you’ve been living a li-”

Pure  _ rage _ overwhelmed everything.

_ Crunch! _

“Fucking  _ bitch! _ ” Cain growled as he held his dripping nose.

Celaena shook her hand out. She’d felt the bone crumble beneath the weight of her punch, fueled by over a decade of anger, and she wasn’t done yet. Stalking toward Cain, she gripped his collar and yanked him close to her face.

From here she could see the darkness swirling in his eyes, the lack of humanity behind his furious stare, and something that no longer existed tried to rear up within her, only to be blown out like smoke in the wind in an instant, an invisible barrier held within herself, suppressing everything she had been. 

“I know exactly what you are,  _ Celaena Sardothien _ ,” he sneered, blood flowing freely over his face and staining his teeth pink. “I know why you run. I know what makes you  _ nameless _ .”

That anger turned to pure terror in a single heartbeat. She pushed him away from her, letting him fall to the floor and turned away with tense shoulders, willing herself to put one foot in front of the other and rejoin everyone else at the table. She couldn’t meet their eyes for fear she would explode.

When Cain spoke again, his voice was thick with blood, but it didn’t stop the way that each of his poisoned barbs landed true despite her best efforts. This time, his voice took on something otherworldly, something _ dark _ that spoke like nails on a chalkboard. “Run, Light-Bringer. Run and remember what it smelled like when your country  _ burned _ .”

Everything turned muffled. She could hardly hear the clamour of steel and leather against wood as the world narrowed toward Cain. 

With a wordless cry, she whirled around with a kick that connected  _ hard _ with his cheek and knocked him back against the stone floor. She followed through, her fists pummeling every bare inch of skin she could find. Celaena felt Cain’s skin split beneath her knuckles and basked in the feeling of his blood beneath each punishing blow.

She was still swinging when Chaol grabbed her and pulled her off Cain, the other Champion now motionless on the ground, his blood splattered across her face.

“ _ Celaena! _ ” he barked and shook her. “Calm down!”

Rage still pulsed through her veins and she elbowed him in the solar plexus and broke out of his hold. He released her with a grunt and she readjusted her stance, sweeping the room with trembling fists. The other Champions had their hands on their weapons again and were staring at her with wide eyes. Dorian was barking orders at the guards who’d moved toward her. The fae prince was the only one not looking at her with any sort of fear in his eyes, but instead understanding and… pity? No, not that. Something else.

It infuriated her just the same.

“Fuck this,” she growled. “I’m leaving. Continue or not, I don’t care.”

With that, she stormed out of the council room, leaving a room full of stunned Champions behind.

Nox held the book tightly in his hands, hardly breathing as he watched the most dangerous woman he’d ever met slam the giant oak doors behind her. Cain was still lying on the floor, unmoving but emitting tiny wheezes that Nox assumed meant he was still breathing. 

He didn’t know how long passed as he and the other Champions sat frozen in their seats, watching as the summoned healers carried Cain out of the room and a servant set to work on mopping up the blood.

_ Gods _ , it was a lot of blood.

He could feel the book trembling with his hands as he stared off toward the direction Celaena had stormed off in. Gods, this woman, she was beautiful and young and if it weren’t for the scars and the weapons, he could almost pretend she wasn’t an assassin. And then she would do something like that, something that released all that pent-up rage, and they were suddenly given a stark reminder of exactly  _ who _ she was.

She was Adarlan’s Assassin for a reason, and the proof for  _ why _ was etched on her skin, was woven in the hard muscles of her arms and the calluses on her palms, was written in the very book he held in his hands.

“I am going to go find her,” Nehemia rose from her seat and beckoned for her guards.

“Princess, I’m not sure that is such a good idea,” Chaol started, then stopped when leveled with Nehemia’s flat stare.

“I will be fine, Captain,” she said.

Surprisingly it was the faerie prince who nodded in agreement. “The princess will be safe, Chaol. There is very little Celaena can do right now, with the whole castle on alert.”

Nehemia left with a satisfied huff and everyone watched as her guards followed out of the council room, their golden jewelry shimmering in the torchlight.

“Right,” Nox cleared his throat after a moment. “Should I - should I continue?”


	14. beautiful songs and sad stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! In my defense, I've been busy now that I'm back at work and we're completely redoing my room to make it more efficient for university (there's only a month left and I'm terrified) and my brother got me hooked on Stardew Valley and LoZ:BotW. 
> 
> It's a short chapter, but I'll try to have something more substantial up soon.

Arobynn Hamel had often told Celaena that she had a gift for murder. She was among the few he had taught who’d had the ability to suppress their emotions and channel them into a killing calm. Whether it was a natural-born gift or something forged by the trauma of that night so long ago, Celaena had always been able to hone her anger into a lethal weapon, wielded with chilling accuracy and icy ferocity. It had been something of pride for her, how she was younger than everyone else in the Guild  _ and _ the only girl, and yet had a causality list that far surpassed any of theirs. Even when the mines threatened to break her, she’d hallowed out her emotions, buried them within her until she unleashed them all at once the day she tried to touch the wall. 

In ten years, it hadn’t failed her.

Which was why Cain made her so unsettled. He was the first person to truly get under her skin, to make her come close to snapping, to make her explode in a fit of reckless abandon. There was something about Cain that rubbed her the wrong way, something beyond the competitiveness of the Tournament. She didn’t know what it was, but it irritated her, scratched at her insides just like the salt did when the overseers dissolved the crystals she’d mined into her wounds.

She’d startled Brullo when she’d stormed into the training room some time before and she had no idea where the Weapons Master had gone and she didn’t particularly care. 

The training room had become a mess. She’d utterly decimated the training dummies, straw limbs and cloth heads flung haphazardly around the room in whatever direction the swing of her sword sent them. Knives were sunk hilt-deep into the targets hung on the wall and the iron-tipped staffs had been thrown to one side in anger when she realized she couldn’t use them without an opponent to spar with.

Adrenaline thrummed in her veins, nearly driving her mad. It was the same thrill she got during a hunt, the same satisfaction of a kill, except it was  _ still there _ .

Even beating Cain bloody hadn’t calmed the pulsing under her skin that sang for blood, for revenge. He knew about that night, somehow, and even still, she felt as though he knew more than he let on. 

She needed  _ out _ .

_ The walls were too tight, the room too claustrophobic, the torchlight flickering too dark, everything cast in far more shadows than possible in a room illuminated by the moon outside. _

_ She was trapped and there was nowhere to go, everything always led back to enslavement - to an unwanted birthright, to a blade and a cruel master, to a pickaxe and the tunnels carved by her own hands, to the crown of her enemy - _

With a wordless yell, she whirled around and let the knife in her hand fly with a snap of her wrist. The knife sliced through the air and hit the wall, quivering as its tip was buried in a crack in the mortar.

The entrance to the training room opened and Celaena spun around to see Brullo hold the door open for someone behind him, a disapproving look on his face as his eyes swept the training room.

A tall Eyllwe man adorned in weapons and jewelry stepped into the room and assessed everything within, including Celaena herself, before giving a swift nod to someone behind him. 

Nehemia entered with an elegant grace not usually seen in this part of the castle. She stepped delicately over the straw-stuffed arm of a dummy and took in the mess that Celaena made.

Celaena knew how she looked: red-faced with rage, anger simmering in her eyes, and shoulders and chest trembling as she tried to repress the blood lust thrumming within her. She was sweaty and filthy, not to mention the hints of tear-tracks that cut through the grime on her face. 

But Nehemia didn’t make any mention of that. Instead, she spoke not a word as she picked up two iron-tipped staffs from the pile Celaena had thrown across the room, and handed one to her friend.

“I can’t,” Celaena protested even as she accepted the weapon. “I’m not in full control right now,” she admitted with a sour pinch to her face, “I don’t want to hurt you and cause, like, an international incident.”

“You will not,” Nehemia said confidently and spread her feet in a fighting stance. “My guards will make sure nothing happens.”

And Brullo was there watching in the corner, too, with his arms crossed over his chest and a wicked-looking broadsword hanging from his hip, but Celaena still didn’t like the odds. She’d taken out people just as trained in groups larger than this one when she was in the killing calm, and with how close she’d come to slipping into it - with how close she still  _ was _ \- she couldn’t risk it.

“I can’t,” she repeated, lowering the staff.

“Fine,” Nehemia shrugged, then swung for Celaena’s head.

Instinctively, Celaena ducked the staff and brought her own up for a counter only to freeze when the tip was inches from Nehemia’s neck.

Nehemia’s guards clamored for their weapons and Brullo reached for his sword, but Nehemia was  _ smiling _ .

The princess adjusted the strap of her dress. Her brown eyes twinkled. “See? You are still in control. Again.” Before Celaena could protest, Nehemia held up a hand to silence her. “I am a princess, am I not? You must do as I say, and I say that we are going to spar.”

Despite the adrenaline that thrummed in her veins, Celaena found herself smiling as she lowered herself into a fighting stance.

Time disappeared beneath the clacking of their staffs as wood hit wood. The princess was good, Celaena had to admit, and would undoubtedly give most would-be assassins a run for their money. Nehemia fought in a style unfamiliar to Celaena, though most like the flowing movements of the Silent Assassins. It made sense, considering the closer proximity between the Red Desert and Eyllwe, that there would be more similarities between their styles than with Adarlan’s rigid formations. Her creamy dress whirled around her legs with every step and the iron tips reflected the torchlight as they spun with the staff in blocks and parries and sweeping lunges. It was a dance Celaena was familiar with, one that soothed the raging adrenaline within her. 

Nehemia’s staff cut through nothingness as Celaena sidestepped to avoid the downward arc. Time slowed down. She could see it so easily, the weak spots the princess left vulnerable as the momentum threw her body out of balance. Her ribs were exposed as her arms were stretched out to follow through the strike and her head was turned slightly, enough that her left temple was facing Celaena. A bead of sweat ran down the sharp arch of Nehemia’s cheekbone, it’s path beginning at the one spot that would guarantee a clean, quick end. 

Stepping into the strike just as she had done a thousand times before, Celaena’s muscles rippled as she twisted the staff and jammed the iron tip into Nehemia’s exposed temple.

Or, that’s what she would have done if the torchlight had not caught the sparkling gold and sapphire of Nehemia’s necklace. 

With a jolt that caused her limbs to seize, Celaena’s arms slackened as she stumbled in an aborted half-step, the tip of the staff pausing mere millimeters from Nehemia’s head.

_ She’d nearly killed her friend. _

An icy chill sent shivers down her spine as all the blood in her body seemed to drain from her face. The staff hovered in the air, her body locked and motionless despite the trembling deep within her bones.

Slowly, the world came back to her in an instant. The guards and Brullo, who seemed to be running toward them in slow-motion. The severed limbs of the training dummies, the wind through the barred windows that wafted the pungent scent of salt and rusted iron toward them. The taste of salt on her lips and the grounding feeling of the earth-packed floor beneath her feet.

A second passed in eternity as Celaena came back to herself, came to grips with the hold the killing calm had over her, but Nehemia had no such qualms. With a movement Celaena thought quicker than someone who had been seconds from being Adarlan’s Assassin’s latest victim, Nehemia ducked the imminent strike and jammed the end of her own staff against Celaena’s knee.

Her left leg buckled beneath her with a sharp stab of pain as the staff’s weight pushed her knee to its extremes. Celaena grunted as she lost her balance and crumpled to the ground, the fall aggravating both her knee and the scars on her back. 

There was a pause in all the movement in the room when Celaena didn’t move, before the sound of feet padding toward her reached her ears.

Nehemia extended her hand to her friend and pulled Celaena up, the latter wincing as it tugged at her back yet again.

“Sorry,” Nehemia said, discarding her staff beside Celaena’s. “I thought you would have dodged.”

Celaena winced and flexed her knee. “I was too focused on not bashing your skull in. Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“The royal family has many enemies and will not stand for losing.”

“I could have killed you,” Celaena pointed out, dread lacing her tone as she felt something warm and sticky drip down her back.

“Maybe so,” Nehemia said, but her eyes sparkled. “But I still won. Now, let me see your back.”

Immediately, Celaena began protesting, but the princess crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “You are in pain and bleeding, Elentiya, do not think I did not notice your face when you fell.”

Grumbling, Celaena hooked her fingers in the hem of her tunic and paused. “Don’t tell Chaol. He’ll already lecture me about Cain, I don’t need to add  _ aggravating healing lashes _ to the list.”

She pulled her tunic over her head and left it bunched around her arms, uncaring of the guards and Brullo’s as they swept their gazes over her scars. She’d been subject to so much humiliation in Endovier that a man seeing her in her breast band hardly made her blanch. And she was sure she could take them, even in her current state with her knee and back smarting like all Hel, if they dared try anything.

Celaena could feel Nehemia’s disapproving gaze on her back as the princess dragged finger light touches across the edges of the three massive scars that adorned her back. 

“It’s not bad,” she said after far to many moments of silence, “But it should be treated.”

Celaena shrugged her shirt back on and turned to face the princess. “I’ll be fine; it’ll stop bleeding eventually.”

Nehemia’s frown deepened as she started her down with a disapproving look in her eyes. “If you don’t want them to get infected and set back healing even further, you will get a servant to attend to them. And your knee,” she added after a pause.

Celaena felt a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “And why would I do that?”

The princess’s eyes came alight with mischief once more. “Because I will take Fleetfoot otherwise. She likes me better, anyways.”

With a false gasp, Celaena put her hand over her heart. “What blasphemy, Nehemia.”

Nehemia rolled her eyes and locked her arm through Celaena’s, dragging her out of the training room. “I still beat you.”

“You did  _ not! _ ”

She ignored the heavy weight of the other’s gazes on her back as they left the training room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fighting with the staffs is based off my own experience of training with bo staffs in jujitsu, so I don't know how accurate it is to what Sarah J. Maas had intended for it to be like.


	15. children of ruin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry things have been going a bit slow lately. I'm prepping for uni and enjoying as much time with my grandparents as I can before my siblings go back to school (because we won't be able to see them once they become surrounded by hundreds of other kids - better to be safe than sorry, ya know?) and I'm writing another fanfic that I want to get completely finished before I post it but it's a little bit slower going than this one because it's historical and I have to do SO MUCH RESEARCH and I'm adding lots of metaphors and everything. So yeah, that fic is my priority because this one would be easier to update on the fly between assignments (if I have any free time, lol, I have no idea).
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is slightly shorter just because the actual book chapter was like, two and a half pages max. 
> 
> I'll try to update again soon, but my mom is making me clean my room >:( and that's a whole process and a half lol.

Celaena’s whole body ached when she woke up the next morning. The adrenaline, that urge that simmered under her skin had not left as she slept; if anything, it had gotten worse with the idle hours of sleep. She slid out of bed and winced slightly at the twinge that went through her knee. She would have to see if Phillipa had any willow bark she could steep into a tea for later, but as she glanced out the window, Celaena realized she had more pressing problems. 

It was past midday, far longer than she should have slept. Chaol hadn’t come by to collect her for their morning run, and if he had, she hadn’t heard his knocking. 

(The thought startled her.) 

Either way, as she stretched her sore muscles, she realized she had obviously needed the sleep. The stress of the book and the competition had been taking a toll on her sleep quality and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d woken up so refreshed. Between Elena invading her dreams and the fear of persecution that hung over every every move in the castle, Celaena hadn’t slept that well since… well, since before she’d been captured.

The fireplace was lit and someone, likely Phillipa, had left an assortment of smoked meats and cheeses on the table, along with fresh bread and a bowl of pristine fruit. Celaena padded over to the lunch spread and stuffed several slices of smoked venison in her mouth. As though summoned by the smell of meat, Fleetfoot poked her nose under Celaena’s elbow as though to say  _ Feed me, now! _

Some time later, there was a knock at the door. Celaena paused with an apple half-way to her mouth, then narrowed her eyes and palmed a steak knife.

“Come in,” she said and the door creaked open to reveal one of the guards at her door, looking absolutely anywhere but Celaena in her nightgown.

“His Royal Highness has summoned you, m’lady,” he stumbled slightly over the term of address. “He asks that you join him and the other Champions in the Council Room in a half-hour’s time.”

Celaena nodded and dismissed him, then stretched her arms back over her head. Slipping out of her chair, she pretended not to see how Fleetfoot eyed the scraps on her plate. She threw open the doors to her closet and pondered her wardrobe. After her outburst last night, she needed something  _ powerful _ , something to remind the other champions that she was not just a teenage girl but Adarlan’s most feared assassin.

Her eyes landed on something pushed in the back of the closet and she grinned.

Twenty minutes later, she slammed the doors to the Council Room open and took stock of the reactions of the people within.

Pelor jumped and went pale and Cain scowled at her, but most of the others just had varying degrees of surprise and nervousness on their faces, as though they hadn’t actually expected her to show up, much less in the outfit she currently wore. 

A black billowy shirt was tucked into dark leather pants and her boots were polished and clicked menacingly against the cobble floor with each step she took. She debated wearing a cloak, but decided that was a bit overkill and instead wore a hooded jacket that hid most of her face but left the weapons hanging on her belt visible - a warning, if they were smart enough to see it for what it was.

“Thank you, Celaena,” Dorian said, gesturing for her to take her seat. “Now that we’re all here, we can begin.”

Celaena slipped into the chair that had become her seat, flanked on either side by Nehemia and Rowan. She refused to push her hood down.

“We, uh, we continued the chapter after you left last night,” Nox said, “But we stopped before going any further. We thought that you, well, that you should be there to read your own life.”

She nodded, but judging by the looks on Cain, Grave, and Renault’s faces, it hadn’t been a unanimous decision.

She did, however, get grim satisfaction seeing Cain’s split lip and swollen eye, as well as the bandage across his nose and the scabbing cut over his left cheekbone. 

She hoped it hurt like  _ hell _ .

“If it is alright with you, Your Highness,” Telmor said, reaching for the book, “I would like to read next.”

“By all means,” Dorian said and waved his hand carelessly. “Begin.”

**Gods. Oh, gods.**

**Yrene’s breath came quickly as the girl stepped closer to the two remaining attackers. The first mercenary barked a laugh, but the one by the door was wide eyed. Yrene carefully, so carefully, backed away.**

**“You killed my men?” the mercenary said, blade held aloft.**

“Oh, right - um, the mercenaries followed Miss Towers out into the alley and you, well, you killed at least a few of them when the chapter ended,” Telmor said, flicking back through the pages to make sure he had his account correct.

Celaena rolled her eyes. “I know. I was there.”

**The young woman flipped one of her daggers into a new position. The kind of position that Yrene thought would easily allow the blade to go straight up through the ribs and into the heart…**

Pelor went green and Celaena honestly wondered if the boy was going to last through the whole book without vomiting his guts up.

**The mercenary lunged, but the girl was waiting. Yrene knew she should run— run and run and not look back—but the girl was only armed with two daggers, and the mercenary was enormous, and—**

“Not a challenge,” Rowan surmised. “Not for you, anyway.”

“I’m flattered,” Celaena said flatly.

**It was over before it really started. The mercenary got in two hits, both met with those wicked-looking daggers. And then she knocked him out cold with a swift blow to the head. So fast—unspeakably fast and graceful. A wraith moving through the mist.**

Nehemia hummed and leaned over. “I supposed you really were holding back,” she whispered.

“I told you,” Celaena shrugged. “I didn’t want to hurt my friend - couldn’t risk the chance of doing so.”

**He crumpled into the fog and out of sight, and Yrene didn’t listen too hard as the girl followed where he’d fallen.**

**Yrene whipped her head to the mercenary in the doorway, preparing to shout a warning to her savior. But the man was already sprinting down the alley as fast as his feet could carry him. Yrene had half a mind to do that herself when the stranger emerged from the mist, blades clean but still out. Still ready.**

Celaena resisted the urge to bang her head on the table.  _ Stupid, stupid girl. She should have run when she had the chance. Had I been anyone else… _

**“Please don’t kill me,” Yrene whispered. She was ready to beg, to offer everything in exchange for her useless, wasted life.**

Grave snorted and muttered something under his breath that Celaena couldn’t hear but was sure was not something kind.

**But the young woman just laughed under her breath and said, “What would have been the point in saving you, then?”**

“It’s changed to your point of view,” Telmor said, looking up from the book at Celaena.

**Celaena hadn’t meant to save the barmaid.**

“Why not?” Nox asked.

Celaena shrugged and ran her fingers over the smooth hilt of her blade. “She wasn’t my mark or my responsibility. She should have been smarter than to go into the alleyway that late at night. She wasn’t getting any pity from me for her own stupidity and I owed her nothing.”

Nox’s brow furrowed ever so slightly and Celaena could see the thoughts warring within him, but he said nothing.

**It had been sheer luck that she’d spotted the four mercenaries creeping about the streets, sheer luck that they seemed as eager for trouble as she was. She had hunted them into that alley, where she found them ready to hurt that girl in unforgivable ways.**

“That, I would have stopped,” Celaena admitted. “Had they touched her, I would not have granted them a swift death.”

Pelor’s face turned the colour of old porridge and his hands shook on top of the table.

**The fight was over too quickly to really be enjoyable, or be a balm to her temper. If you could even call it a fight.**

Behind her, Celaena could feel Nehemia’s guards exchange a look, likely both remembering the incident in the training room the night before.

**The fourth one had gotten away, but she didn’t feel like chasing him, not as the servant girl stood in front of her, shaking from head to toe. Celaena had a feeling that hurling a dagger after the sprinting man would only make the girl start screaming. Or faint. Which would … complicate things.**

“So much empathy,” Dorian said dryly. “You should become a philanthropist.”

Celaena rolled her eyes and debated flipping him the middle finger, but figured she was on shaky enough ground with the castle guards and she didn’t want to give them any more reason than this book would to view her with increased suspicion.

**But the girl didn’t scream or faint. She just pointed a trembling finger at Celaena’s arm. “You—you’re bleeding.”**

**Celaena frowned down at the little shining spot on her bicep. “I suppose I am.”**

“Please tell me you took care of it,” Rowan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Yrene did,” Celaena admitted. “Wouldn’t let me leave without cleaning it.”

**A careless mistake. The thickness of her tunic had stopped it from being a troublesome wound, but she’d have to clean it. It would be healed in a week or less. She made to turn back to the street, to see what else she could find to amuse her…**

“I’m afraid to ask what qualifies as amusement for you,” Chaol said wearily.

“I don’t know,” Celaena said, “Maybe more drunken vagrants to fight or a backroom card game I could spoil. I never got far enough to decide.”

**“I—I could bind it up for you.”**

**She wanted to shake the girl.**

Nehemia  _ tsked _ . “That is not how you make friends, Elentyia.”

Celaena rolled her eyes. “I don’t  _ want _ her to be my friend.”

“Actually,” Rowan said, leaning over so only Celaena could hear. “You and Yrene become reacquainted later in life, and you get along great.”

Celaena just blinked. The idea of friends was still utterly foreign to her and the idea that some random barmaid she saved in a rare bout of empathy would become her friend in the future just didn’t compute.

**Shake her for about ten different reasons. The first, and biggest, was because she was trembling and scared and had been utterly useless.**

“How has she not learned by this point to carry a knife with her when she leaves the inn?” Renault shook his head. “Especially when going into a dark alley after closing, and  _ especially _ in Innish.”

**The second was for being stupid enough to stand in that alley in the middle of the night.**

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Celaena grumbled. “But I actually agree with you, Renault. As I said before, she was  _ stupid _ .”

Rowan pinned her with a look and watched as Celaena sunk slightly in her seat, wondering how in Hel Aelin and Yrene had ever become friends when they’d had an introduction like  _ that _ .

He knew from experience that Celaena was… not easy to deal with on the best of days, and when she was hurting and in pain she could be even worse. It was a miracle in and of itself that Yrene had even approached Celaena with an offer of friendship in his time.

**She didn’t feel like thinking about all the other reasons —not when she was already angry enough.**

**“I can bind myself up just fine,” Celaena said, heading for the door that led into the White Pig’s kitchens...**

**“Silba knows what was on that blade,” the girl said, and Celaena paused. Invoking the Goddess of Healing. Very few did that these days—unless they were …**

“A healer,” Cain rasped out and rang his tongue over the split in his lip with a grimace.

**“I—my mother was a healer, and she taught me a few things,” the girl stammered. “I could—I could … Please let me repay the debt I owe you.”**

**“You wouldn’t owe me anything if you’d used some common sense.”**

**The girl flinched as though Celaena had struck her.**

“Low blow, Celaena,” Nox said, “It’s not her fault. We’ve all been upended by Adarlan to unfamiliar places and you can’t blame her for only wanting to follow her mother’s path. I’m sure she never imagined that she would ever end up in a position where she would have to break her Healer’s Vow and intentionally harm another person.”

Chaol frowned, not liking the thief’s dig at the kingdom he’d sworn to protect, but Dorian just looked down at his signet ring. 

Things would be different in his reign, he promised himself, but deep down he was terrified he would never be able to escape his father’s influence.

Rowan, meanwhile, frowned. This timid, emotional girl was nothing like the Yrene he knew. She didn’t have the same fire, the same spirit that made her fight in the war while she was  _ pregnant _ and had a husband who needed her care often. What changed her? What had happened in Innish and the Torre Cesme that brought out the woman Rowan knew from this shivering husk of a girl?

**It only annoyed her even more. Everything annoyed her—this town, this kingdom, this cursed world.**

“You sound just about ready to fight the gods themselves,” Pelor joked weakly.

Renault rolled his eyes and kicked the boy’s shin again. “Stop being tempting the gods, boy. They don’t take kindly to blasphemy.”

Pelor just glared at him and brought his leg up to rub at the red boot-shaped mark on his pale skin.

**“I’m sorry,” the girl said softly.**

**“What are you apologizing to me for? Why are you apologizing at all? Those men had it coming. But you should have been smarter on a night like this—when I’d bet all my money that you could taste the aggression in that filthy damned taproom.”**

“See?” Celaena protested. “I can be nice!”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Again, remind me not to let you near visiting nobles - or hurt children, for that matter.”

Celaena huffed and crossed her arms.

**...The girl put her face in her hands, her shoulders curving inward. Celaena counted down the seconds until the girl burst into sobs, until she fell apart.**

“Ugh,” Grave groaned. “It’s always the worst when they cry and beg.”

Celaena growled and bared her teeth, withdrawing her dagger just enough for the other assassin to get the message.

_ Keep talking like that and I will slit your throat. _

She doubted the fear would keep him in check for long, and it would probably make him more likely to try to take his anger out on her in the long run, but it would be worth it to not have to sit through any more of his morbid comments for the rest of the day.

**But the tears didn’t come. The girl just took a few deep breaths, then lowered her hands. “Let me clean your arm,” she said in a voice that was … different, somehow. Stronger, clearer. “Or you’ll wind up losing it.”**

A small smile spread across Rowan’s face.  _ That _ was the Yrene he knew. Not quite the same, not yet, but the seeds were there and they would undoubtedly grow, nurtured and encouraged by her experiences in the Torre Cesme.

**And the slight change in the girl was interesting enough that Celaena followed her inside.**

**She didn’t bother about the three bodies in the alley. She had a feeling no one but the rats and carrion-feeders would care about them in this town.**

“That was the end of that chapter,” Telmor said and closed the book. “Who would like to read next?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fleetfoot's actions here are totally based off what my dog was doing at the time as I ate lunch and wrote this xD


	16. no gods and precious few heroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized I forgot to add a title to chapter fifteen. Don't worry, it's been fixed.

**Chapter sixteen:**

“I’ll read, I guess,” Renault sighed and held his hand out impatiently for the book. Telmor handed the book to the mercenary sitting next to him and Renault marked the correct page with his thumb before flipping to check the number of pages that were left.

He groaned upon seeing the number and Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Are you really that averse to reading, mercenary?”

“No, of course not, Your Highness,” Renault grit out and flipped back to the correct page. “Chapter four.”

**Yrene brought the girl to her room under the stairs, because she was half- afraid that the mercenary who’d gotten away would be waiting for them upstairs.**

Celaena rolled her eyes. “Is she still so concerned about a single mercenary after seeing me dispatch all his friends?”

Nehemia reached over and put a hand over Celaena’s. She looked at her friend with soft eyes. “Is it so awful to have someone who cares for your wellbeing?”

“It’s insulting,” Celaena scowled and turned away. “Adarlan’s Assassin could take care of herself, even with a measly cut on her arm.”

“You speak of her as though you are not that person anymore,” Nehemia noticed. “Why, Elentyia?”

Celaena didn’t respond.

**And Yrene didn’t want to see any more fighting or killing or bleeding, strong stomach or no.**

“Then she picked the wrong country to live in,” Grave scoffed and crossed his arms.

Chaol’s face darkened and he narrowed his eyes at the assassin. It wasn’t  _ technically _ treason, but he was so sick of the man that he was tempted to lock him in the cells regardless. 

Meanwhile, Dorian scratched his chin. Although he was certain Celaena had never intended for her private thoughts about Adarlan’s Empire to be read aloud, both they and the Champions’ comments - mutinus as they might be - offered a new perspective, a different perspective to those of his nobility-employed tutors and fearful subjects who grovelled at his feet constantly.

**Not to mention she was also half-afraid to be locked in the suite with the stranger.**

“ _ That’s _ a logical reason,” Celaena said. “Especially if I had ulterior motives.”

“You didn’t?” Pelor asked in a small voice.

Celaena rolled her eyes. She seemed to be doing that a lot. “I just wanted to get away from that gods-forsaken town as soon as possible.”

**She left the girl sitting on her sagging bed and went to fetch two bowls of water and some clean bandages—supplies that would be taken out of her paycheck when Nolan realized they were gone.**

Telmor winced. He dreaded to think what the barkeep would do to the girl upon discovering the theft. With the image the book had already painted of him, he wouldn’t be surprised if Nolan had Yrene dragged before a court of law in a plea to extract even more money from her.

**When Yrene returned, she almost dropped the steaming bowls. The girl had removed her hood and cloak and tunic.**

**Yrene didn’t know what to remark on first:**

“My dashingly good looks?” Celaena suggested, plastering a smirk on her face.

Rowan snorted like it was an inside joke.

**That the girl was young—perhaps two or three years younger than Yrene— but** **_felt_ ** **old.**

Celaena’s forced grin wavered.

**That the girl was beautiful, with golden hair and blue eyes that shone in the candlelight.**

_ So beautiful _ , Rowan thought wistfully. He hoped to whatever benevolent gods were listening - if any did exist - that he would be able to hold Aelin again and press kisses into her hair and watch her eyes light up upon seeing him. Make her feel beautiful and  _ loved _ .

**Or that the girl’s face would have been even more beautiful had it not been covered in a patchwork of bruises. Such horrible bruises, including a black eye that had undoubtedly been swollen shut at some point.**

Dorian hissed quietly in sympathy. It seemed Arobynn Hamel took disobedience seriously.

Rowan clenched the armrests of his chair, willing the territorial predator within him to calm, to remember that this was all in the past, even in this universe, and there was nothing they could do but promise Arobynn a slow, painful death. But first they had information to  _ extract _ from him.

**...It wasn’t Yrene’s place to ask questions. Especially not when this girl had dispatched three mercenaries in a matter of moments. Even if the gods had abandoned her, Yrene still believed in them; they were still somewhere, still watching.**

Rowan snorted.  _ Just watching, doing nothing else. Like this world was a play put on to stave off boredom, without any real care given to the fate of the characters. _

**She believed, because how else could she explain being saved just now?**

That, Rowan amended, was somewhat true, at least. The gods had chosen Aelin’s fate long before she was born and had put her on the path she was now to right some ancient slight the gods felt was against them.

**...The girl said nothing while Yrene inspected the cut on her bicep. Her arm was slender, but rock-hard with muscle.**

Celaena’s expression soured. Oh, how she longed for the physique she’d had before the mines had stolen every inch of what had made her human.

**The girl had scars everywhere—small ones, big ones.**

Nehemia frowned, recalling the patchwork of skin and scars that she’d seen on Celaena’s back the night before, and how even the shirt she currently wore couldn’t keep scars from peeking their way above the collar and twisting and ripping their way across her forearms and hands.

For someone so much younger than Nehemia was, yet born into the same life, it was a tapestry to remind Celaena of her fallen dynasty, of what she was because who she’d been had burned along with her country.

It made something deep within Nehemia’s chest ache and she grabbed her friend’s hand in reassurance. 

**She offered no explanation for them, and it seemed to Yrene that the girl wore her scars the way some women wore their finest jewelry.**

Celaena held her head high even as all those around the table glanced at the red and silver scars that weren’t covered by her shirt. She was proud of all of them, even the three lashes along her from Endovier. They were proof that she’d  _ survived _ , that the world had tried to break her and had  _ failed. _

**The stranger couldn’t have been older than seventeen or eighteen, but ... but Adarlan had made them all grow up fast. Too fast.**

Dorian studied the occupants around the table. He himself had only been named Heir Apparent when he’d turned eighteen and had satisfied his father’s demands for what an heir should be. There had always been the fear that he would lose his position, his birthright, to Hollin, but that had never really crossed his mind until more recent years. He’d been allowed a childhood, happily running about the castle and exploring all the depths of his imagination. He’d wanted for nothing, not even during the height of the conquest when tensions were most strained.

By contrast, several of the people around the table had had their lives uprooted by Adarlan. Celaena had been from Terrasen and had truly loved her country, if her reaction to Cain’s words were any indication. Princess Nehemia had been, like him, Heir Apparent to her kingdom before his father had forced the Eyllwe royal family to become nothing more than puppets in Adarlan’s control. Nox was from Perranth, a city ravished by the conquest. Prince Rowan’s kind was all but extinct on the Continent and the few that survived, if any did, lived in constant fear of persecution. And then there was little Pelor, who was a poisons master at twelve and had likely begun his training far too young. Whatever had brought him to that life, Dorian was almost certain it had to do with Adarlan’s imperialism.

**Yrene set about washing the wound, and the girl hissed softly. “Sorry,” Yrene said quickly. “I put some herbs in there as an antiseptic. I should have warned you.” Yrene kept a stash of them with her at all times, along with other herbs her mother had taught her about. Just in case. Even now, Yrene couldn’t turn away from a sick beggar in the street, and often walked toward the sound of coughing.**

Cain made a noise of disgust.

**“Believe me, I’ve been through worse.”**

Rowan felt his magic rise up in his throat and had to swallow back a growl. He wanted to grab Celaena by the shoulders and make her realize that that shouldn’t be a reassurance.

**“I do,” Yrene said. “Believe you, I mean.” Those scars and her mangled face spoke volumes. And explained the hood. But was it vanity or self-preservation that made her wear it?**

“I’m going to say a bit of both?” Nox asked with a tilted head.

“Oh, shut up,” Celaena grumbled.

**“What’s your name?”**

**“It’s none of your concern, and it doesn’t matter.”**

“The amount of gold riding on my head definitely would have gotten her to the Torre Cesme if she’d realized who I was,” Celaena said. “I’m not sure whether I should be thankful she hadn’t pressed or yell at her for not taking the opportunity so clearly presented in front of her.”

**Yrene bit her tongue. Of course it was none of her business. The girl hadn’t given a name to Nolan, either. So she was traveling on some secret business, then.**

“My business is always secret. That’s the  _ point _ of anonymity.”

**“My name is Yrene,” she offered. “Yrene Towers.”**

**A distant nod. Of course, the girl didn’t care, either.**

Rowan frowned.

**Then the stranger said, “What’s the daughter of a healer doing in this piece of shit town?”**

**No kindness, no pity. Just blunt, if not almost bored, curiosity.**

“We all survive in our own way,” Nox murmured.

**“I was on my way to Antica to join their healers’ academy and ran out of money.” She dipped the rag into the water, wrung it out, and resumed cleaning the shallow wound. “I got work here to pay for the passage over the ocean, and ... Well, I never left. I guess staying here became ... easier. Simpler.”**

**A snort. “This place? It’s certainly simple, but easy? I think I’d rather starve in the streets of Antica than live here.”**

“I think I’d rather be anywhere but there,” Pelor piped up, his nose scrunched in disgust at the thought of Innish.

**The girl’s eyes flashed to hers. They were ringed with gold…**

Celaena’s blood froze.

_ Surely they wouldn’t - surely that wouldn’t be enough - by the gods, she was dead. _

**Even with the bruises, the girl was alluring. Like wildfire…**

Her heart leapt into her throat. She couldn’t breath.

_ Please, oh gods, please not here. Not now. _

**“Let me give you a bit of advice,” the girl said bitterly, “from one working girl to another: Life isn’t easy, no matter where you are. You’ll make choices you think are right, and then suffer for them.” Those remarkable eyes flickered. “So if you’re going to be miserable, you might as well go to Antica and be miserable in the shadow of the Torre Cesme.”**

“That was almost kind,” Nox said dryly, then frowned when Celaena didn’t react.

It didn’t even seem like she heard him.

**Educated and possibly extremely well-traveled, then, if the girl knew the healers’ academy by name—and she pronounced it perfectly.**

_ Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. _

**Yrene shrugged, not daring to voice her dozens of questions. Instead, she said, “I don’t have the money to go now, anyway.”**

**It came out sharper than she intended—sharper than was smart, considering how lethal this girl was.**

“Don’t piss of the slumbering beast,” Grave snarked, smirking at Cain.

Cain growled at the assassin. “How about I give you an eye to match?”

**Yrene didn’t try to guess what manner of working girl she might be—mercenary was about as dark as she’d let herself imagine.**

Chaol snorted. “ _ So _ close.”

**“Then steal the money and go. Your boss deserves to have his purse lightened.”**

“Two counts of attempted thievery?” Dorian shook his head. “It’s a wonder your list of charges wasn’t any longer.”

**Yrene pulled back. “I’m no thief.”**

**A roguish grin. “If you want something, then go take it.”**

**This girl wasn’t** **_like_ ** **wildfire—she** **_was_ ** **wildfire.**

_ For the love of the gods, book, SHUT UP! _

Rowan watched out of the corner of his eyes as Celaena had a panic attack. She disguised it well and if he didn’t already know all her tells, he wouldn’t have thought anything was amise. 

But her breathing was shallower, quicker, and a thin trickle of sweat ran down her temple. She was gripping the palms of her knives tightly, waiting to draw them out at any moment.

**Deadly and uncontrollable.**

**And slightly out of her wits.**

Cain grumbled something under his breath.

**“More than enough people believe that these days,” Yrene ventured to say. Like Adarlan. Like those mercenaries. “I don’t need to be one of them.”**

**The girl’s grin faded. “So you’d rather rot away here with a clean conscience?”**

Chaol pinched the bridge of his nose. A morally-upright girl with a good heart and honest intentions. Why couldn’t Dorian have chosen to fall for someone like  _ her _ , not a half-dead assassin they’d dragged from several life sentences in the mines?

**...After a moment, the girl asked, “When did you lose your mother?”**

**“Over eight years ago.” Yrene kept her focus on the wound.**

**“That was a hard time to be a gifted healer on this continent, especially in Fenharrow. The King of Adarlan didn’t leave much of its people—or royal family—alive.”**

Dorian winced internally and tried to ignore the stares directed at him from everywhere in the room, however subtle or obvious they were.

**Yrene looked up. The wildfire in the girl’s eyes had turned into a scorching blue flame.**

_ Holy SHIT! Do the gods  _ want _ me dead or rotting in the mines again? _

Celaena was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

**_Such rage_ ** **, she thought with a shiver.** **_Such simmering rage_ ** **. What had she been through to make her look like that?**

Nehemia rubbed a thumb across the back of Celaena’s hand, unbothered by how quiet her friend had become. She understood, she truly did. 

Rowan’s eyes met Nox’s across the table, before the thief quickly looked away. He was smart, Rowan would give the man that, and Rowan wondered how long it would take him to put together the pieces of this puzzle.

**...“If you managed to attend the Torre Cesme,” the girl said, her anger shifting as if she had shoved it down deep inside her,**

The killing calm. Telmor had seen it on occasion on the battlefield, a gift granted by Farnor and Helas to a select few, but never in someone so young, never in someone like Adarlan’s Assassin.

**“what would you do afterward?”**

**Yrene picked up one of the fresh bandages and began wrapping it around the girl’s arm. She’d dreamed about it for years, contemplated a thousand different futures while she washed dirty mugs and swept the floors. “I’d come back. Not to here, I mean, but to the continent. Go back to Fenharrow. There are a ... a lot of people who need good healers these days.”**

Rowan’s eyes softened as he thought of his friend. 

**She said the last part quietly. For all she knew, the girl might support the King of Adarlan—might report her to the small town guard for just speaking ill of the king. Yrene had seen it happen before, far too many times.**

Telmor winced.

**But the girl looked toward the door with its makeshift bolt that Yrene had constructed, at the closet that she called her bedroom, at the threadbare cloak draped over the half-rotted chair against the opposite wall, then finally back at her.**

Slowly, Celaena felt her body return to her. So far, no one had given any indication that they understood the hidden messages of the book beyond that they were metaphors. She was still safe, for now.

As safe as a condemned assassin in the castle of her enemy could be.

**It gave Yrene a chance to study her face. Seeing how easily she’d trounced those mercenaries, whoever had harmed her must be fearsome indeed.**

A sliver of ice returned to Celaena’s spine, sending a shiver through her body. 

She’d never seen Arobynn so angry as he had that day, never thought that rage and hate would be directed at her, never thought she’d be the one to feel her skin split beneath his fist.

The image sent a lick of fear through her.

**“You’d really come back to this continent—to the empire?”**

**There was such quiet surprise in her voice that Yrene met her eyes.**

Celaena didn’t say what she wanted to, that she thought anyone who chose to live here was a fool. She figured even that would be too much for Dorian and Chaol to ignore.

**“It’s the right thing to do,” was all Yrene could think of to say.**

Renault shook his head in quiet disbelief as his eyes ran down the page to the next line.

**The girl didn’t reply, and Yrene continued wrapping her arm. When she was finished, the girl shrugged on her shirt and tunic, tested her arm, and stood…**

**The girl picked up her cloak but didn’t don it as she took a step toward the closed door.**

**“I could find something for your face,” Yrene blurted.**

Dorian winced. If it had been so bad that a healer acknowledged the extent of the damage done…

**The girl paused with a hand on the doorknob and looked over her shoulder. “These are meant to be a reminder.”**

Pelor went grey and looked like he wanted to run for the toilet.

**“For what? Or—to whom?” She shouldn’t pry, shouldn’t have even asked.**

**She smiled bitterly. “For me.”**

**Yrene thought of the scars she’d seen on her body and wondered if those were all reminders, too.**

“Yes,” Celaena said quietly. “They’re proof I’ve survived.”

**The young woman turned back to the door, but stopped again. “Whether you stay, or go to Antica and attend the Torre Cesme and return to save the world,” she mused, “you should probably learn a thing or two about defending yourself.”**

“So you can be nice,” Dorian grinned, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Celaena rolled her eyes. “I just didn’t particularly feel like having to save her again.”

**Yrene eyed the daggers at the girl’s waist, the sword she hadn’t even needed to draw. Jewels embedded in the hilt—real jewels—glinted in the candlelight. The girl had to be fabulously wealthy, richer than Yrene could ever conceive of being…**

Celaena smirked, thinking of how much blood money was accumulating in her account at the bank. Since her identity and aliases had never been made public, the bank had never received a notice about needing to close her account and it had been gathering interest since.

**The girl huffed a laugh. “If you learn these maneuvers, you won’t need them.”**

“It’s back to you, Sardothien,” Renault said.

**Celaena took the barmaid into the alley, if only because she didn’t want to wake the other inn guests and get into yet another fight. She didn’t really know why she’d offered to teach her to defend herself. The last time she’d helped anybody, it had just turned around to beat the hell out of her. Literally.**

“Okay, seriously,” Celaena interrupted with a casual flick of her hand. “Will someone get this boy a bucket? I don’t want to have to endure his sick all over the table.”

Indeed, Pelor looked like the reminder of the abuse she’d endured made him one bad smell away from vomiting everywhere, but he managed a weak protest. “I’m not sick!”

Celaena rolled her eyes and scoffed.

**But the barmaid—Yrene—had looked so earnest when she talked about helping people. About being a healer.**

**The Torre Cesme—any healers worth their salt knew about the academy in Antica where the best and brightest, no matter their station, could study. Celaena had once dreamed of dwelling in the fabled cream-colored towers of the Torre, of walking the narrow, sloping streets of Antica and seeing wonders brought in from lands she’d never heard of. But that was a lifetime ago. A different person ago.**

“Awww,” Grave crooned. “You wanted to do  _ good _ . How  _ nice _ .”

“As the book said, Grave,” Celaena said, running her fingers along the worn leather grip of her sword, “That was a long time ago. When I was so young and naive to believe life would deal me a fair hand.”

**Not now, certainly. And if Yrene stayed in this gods-forsaken town, other people were bound to try to attack her again. So here Celaena was, cursing her own conscience for a fool as they stood in the misty alley behind the inn.**

“I knew you couldn’t be all that bad,” Pelor said, brightening a little from the ashy-pale he’d been.

Celaena scowled at him and he let out a quiet squeak.

... **Yrene’s eyes were wide, her face pale in the light of the torch Celaena had dropped just outside the back door. Helpless. What was it like to be helpless to defend yourself? A shudder that had nothing to do with the rats gnawing on the dead mercenaries went through her.**

A similar shudder went through Celaena now. She knew  _ exactly _ what it was like, had known since the moment the rider on a dark horse began circling the estate so many years ago.

**...And when the moon was setting, when Celaena was convinced that Yrene might stand a chance against an assailant, they finally stopped. Yrene seemed to be holding herself a bit taller, her face flushed.**

The smallest smile appeared on Rowan’s stoic face.  _ There _ was the woman he knew, the woman he loved, always bringing others up, putting them before herself even when her own life rested on the line.

**“If they come after you for money,” Celaena said, jerking her chin toward where the mercenaries lay in a heap, “throw whatever coins you have far away from you and run in the opposite direction. Usually they’ll be so occupied by chasing after your money that you’ll have a good chance of escape.”**

**Yrene nodded. “I should—I should teach all this to Jessa.”**

“Yeah, yeah,” Celaena grumbled and made a shooing motion. “Just get out of my sight.”

Nehemia tutted and gave her friend a stern look.

**Celaena didn’t know or care who Jessa was, but she said, “If you get the chance, teach it to any female who will take the time to listen.”**

**...Yrene cleared her throat. “Did you—did you ever have to use these maneuvers? Not to pry. I mean, you don’t have to answer if—”**

Rowan’s entire body froze and it had nothing to do with the fractles of ice that exploded along the arm rests.  _ If anyone ever touched a hair on her head, I will hunt them down and  _ obliterate _ them. _

**“I’ve used them, yes—but not because I was in that kind of situation. I ...” She knew she shouldn’t say it, but she did. “I’m usually the one who does the hunting.”**

**Yrene, to her surprise, just nodded, if a bit sadly. There was such irony, she realized, in them working together—the assassin and the healer. Two opposite sides of the coin.**

Cain narrowed his eyes, something dark working behind his stormy orbs.

**Yrene wrapped her arms around herself. “How can I ever repay you for—”**

Celaena sighed. “Clearly I didn’t teach her enough. If they don’t ask for payment, you don’t offer it.”

**But Celaena held up a hand. The alley was empty, but she could feel them, could hear the shift in the fog, in the scurrying of the rats. Pockets of quiet.**

**She met Yrene’s stare and flicked her eyes toward the back door, a silent command. Yrene had gone white and stiff. It was one thing to practice, but to put lessons into action, to use them ... Yrene was more of a liability.**

Chaol nodded in understanding. Those lessons were never truly meant to be put into action, they were merely a failsafe in case the worst happened. Using them in a controlled location and using them to defend yourself were two vastly different situations.

**Celaena jerked her chin at the door, an order now.**

**There were at least five men—two on either end of the alley converging upon them, and one more standing guard by the busier end of the street.**

“This is why you shouldn’t have let the last mercenary go,” Renault said, raising an eyebrow with a silent smirk on his face.

“I know, I know!” Celaena growled. “You don’t need to rub it in.”

**Yrene was through the back door by the time Celaena drew her sword.**

“I’m done,” Renault announced. Then without another word he pushed the book into Pelor’s hands. 

“But - but -” Pelor spluttered, looking around the table for any sympathy. Noticing none, he sighed in defeat. “Fine.”

  
  



	17. all that's best of dark and bright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's a short chapter and I should have had it up earlier. I've been setting up my desk for uni (I finally got a laptop of my own and a new chair!!!) and I was going to post this earlier today, but my dog did something that caused her great and sudden pain, so I spent most of my afternoon petting my puppy (I mean, she's ten, but still a puppy) until my hands went numb as we waited for the pain to subsided. At best, it's a pulled muscle or a pinched nerve, and at worst, hip dysplasia, so I'm really hoping it's the former :( and my mind has kind of been preoccupied with that.
> 
> She's lying at my feet now and no longer whimpering, so hopefully she'll be alright.

“Chapter five,” Pelor read.

**In the darkened kitchen, Yrene leaned against the back door, a hand on her hammering heart as she listened to the melee outside. Earlier, the girl had the element of surprise—but how could she face them again?**

“Very easily,” Nox guessed.

**Her hands trembled as the sound of clashing blades and shouts filtered through the crack beneath the door. Thumps, grunts, growls. What was happening?**

“Please tell me you were being careful,” Nehemia whispered, “You must prioritize your safety more, Elentyia.”

“As safe as I can ever be,” Celaena replied, squeezing her hand. 

Nehemia frowned. “That is not safe enough.”

Celaena could say nothing to that. What was she supposed to say? That it was her job? That it was what she’d been training for for more than ten years? Something told her neither answer would placate the princess.

**She couldn’t stand it, not knowing what was happening to the girl.**

**It went against every instinct to open up the back door and peer out.**

Renault made an exasperated noise of disgust and let his head fall back against the chair. “Didn’t we  _ just _ have this conversation?”

**Her breath caught in her throat at the sight:**

**The mercenary who had escaped earlier had returned with more friends—more skilled friends.**

The book began shaking in Pelor’s hands.

**Two were facedown on the cobblestones, pools of blood around them.**

“We shouldn’t have even worried,” Chaol said dryly.

“Of course not,” Celaena rolled her eyes, “I survived ten years without dying or being caught; a handful of lowly mercenaries wouldn’t even present a challenge.”

**But the remaining three were engaged with the girl, who was—was —**

**Gods, she moved like a black wind, such lethal grace, and—**

Rowan’s throat bobbed. Just imagining it, just imagining what Aelin looked like in the throes of determination, how she whirled in a dance of singing blades and burning blood, it made him long for her. 

Did time pass while he was here? Were they all still frozen around the campfire, was she still asleep in their tent, tomes sprawled on every available surface? Or did the sun continue to rise as his days barreled on? 

Did she miss him? Was she doing something foolish? 

That, Rowan realized dryly, was a stupid question. She was  _ always _ doing something foolish.

And he loved her for it.

**A hand closed over Yrene’s mouth as someone grabbed her from behind and pressed something cold and sharp against her throat.**

“Dumb girl,” Grave scoffed, but quietly enough that he wouldn’t attract Celaena’s ire. He had no desire to end up like Cain, even if he was positive he could take her in a brawl.

**There had been another man; he came in through the inn.**

Celaena sighed heavily and loudly.

**“Walk,” he breathed in her ear, his voice rough and foreign… He flung open the door and, still holding the dagger to Yrene’s neck, strode into the alley.**

**The young woman stopped fighting. Another mercenary had gone down, and the two before her had their blades pointed at her.**

“Why did you stop?” Nehemia asked.

Celaena’s cheeks burned and something sour flooded her mouth. “I didn’t want Yrene to get hurt in retaliation to anything I might do.”

**“Drop your weapons,” the man said...**

**The young woman eyed the men, then Yrene’s captor, then Yrene herself. Calm—utterly calm and cold as she bared her teeth in a feral grin. “Come and get them.”**

Rowan groaned silently.

**Yrene’s stomach dropped. The man had only to shift his wrist and he’d spill her life’s blood. She wasn’t ready to die—not now, not in Innish.**

“ _ Especially _ not in Innish,” Telmor said, “Although it would be preferable if neither of you put your lives in danger.”

“This had already  _ happened _ ,” Celaena stressed. “And you don’t get to dictate what I can or cannot do!”

Telmor sighed, but decided it wasn’t worth getting into an argument over.

**Her captor chuckled. “Bold and foolish words, girl.” He pushed the blade harder, and Yrene winced. She felt the dampness of her blood before she realized he’d cut a thin line across her neck. Silba save her.**

Rowan’s nostrils flared imperceptibly. The gods wouldn’t save them, not then, and not now.

**But the girl’s eyes were on Yrene, and they narrowed slightly. In challenge, in a command.** **_Fight back_ ** **, she seemed to say.** **_Fight for your miserable life_ ** **.**

**The two men with the swords circled closer, but she didn’t lower her blade. “Drop your weapons before I cut her open,” Yrene’s captor growled. “Once we’re done making you pay for our comrades, for all the money you cost us with their deaths, maybe we’ll let** **_her_ ** **live.”**

Nox’s hands clenched his armrests and his risked stealing a glance at the girl a few chairs over. She was blasé and calm, completely unmoved by the blatant threat on both her life and Yrene’s. 

He didn’t know whether to be impressed or terrified.

**He squeezed Yrene tighter, but the young woman just watched him. The mercenary hissed. “** **_Drop your weapons_ ** **.”**

**She didn’t.**

**Gods, she was going to let him kill her, wasn’t she?**

“Of course not,” Celaena waved the accusation away. “I’m not a  _ monster. _ ”

Grave mumbled something that was probably a dig at her moral compass, but Celaena shrugged it off and focused on suppressing the rage that roiled inside her.

**Yrene couldn’t die like this—not here, not as a no-name barmaid in this horrible place.** **_Wouldn’t_ ** **die like this. Her mother had gone down swinging—her mother had** **_fought_ ** **for her, had killed that soldier so Yrene could have a chance to flee, to make something of her life. To do some good for the world.**

Dorian swallowed roughly.

**She wouldn’t die like this.**

**The rage hit, so staggering that Yrene could hardly see through it, could hardly see anything except a year in Innish, a future beyond her grasp, and a life she was not ready to part with.**

Celaena’s lips twitched up in the barest hint of a smirk.  _ Good _ , she thought _ , maybe she could make something out of this miserable hell after all _ .

**She gave no warning before she stomped down as hard as she could on the bridge of the man’s foot.**

Pelor hissed in sympathy.

**...The man collapsed to his knees, and Yrene bolted. To run, to help, she didn’t know.**

**But the girl was already standing in front of her, grinning broadly.**

Rowan sighed. 

**Behind her, the two men lay unmoving. And the man on his knees—**

**Yrene dodged aside as the young woman grabbed the gasping man and dragged him into the dark mist beyond.**

Pelor’s face, which had been returning back to its normal pale complexion, suddenly went green.

**There was a muffled scream, then a thump.**

He gagged and put his hand over his mouth, but didn’t vomit everywhere. 

Telmor sighed and reached into his jacket. He pulled out a small package of individually-wrapped disks and held one out the boy. “Take it.”

Pelor blinked, and swallowed roughly. “What is it?”

“It’s a ginger chew,” the soldier explained with a soft expression. “I had a feeling something like this would come up - it always did with my boys in their first battle - and I grabbed some the last time I was in my chambers. It’ll help settle your stomach.”

Wearily, Pelor reached for the toffy and slipped it in his mouth. Immediately, his face screwed up, but not in a way that meant he was going to be sick in his lap. “It’s really spicy.”

“It’s ginger,” Telmor said with a deadpan expression. “Of course it’s spicy.”

Celaena just rolled her eyes. Pelor picked up the book with a grimace as he swallowed the last of the ginger. 

**And despite her healer’s blood, despite the stomach she’d inherited, Yrene barely made it two steps before she vomited.**

**When she was done, she found the young woman watching her again, smiling faintly. “Fast learner,” she said. Her fine clothes, even her darkly glittering ruby brooch, were covered with blood.**

“Good,” Celaena muttered with grim satisfaction. She hoped the bloodstains never came out of the brooch. It would serve Arobynn right.

**Not her own, Yrene noted with some relief. “You sure you want to be a healer?”**

**Yrene wiped her mouth on the corner of her apron. She didn’t want to know what the alternative was—what this girl might be.**

“Healers and assassins are not so different,” Nehemia murmured, rubbing her thumb along the back of Celaena’s hand. “Sometimes the illness that plagues a person is of a more… physical nature. You simply rid the world of those that the world would do better without.”

Celaena nodded absentmindedly, guilt swirling in her gut. While some of those she’d sent to the grave had deserved it, far too many had been innocent in the loosest sense of the world. Adulterous spouses and corrupt pub owners were far from guilty enough to deserve death for their crimes, and those caught in the middle, those that wound up as collateral damage, deserved none of what she’d bestowed upon them.

She wondered if the survivors would have been glad to see her hang.

**No, all she wanted was to smack her. Hard.**

“That seems to be a running theme with those you meet,” Nox said, and Celaena rolled her eyes.

“Shut up.”

**“You could have dispatched them without me! But you let that man hold a knife to my throat—you** **_let him!_ ** **Are you insane?”**

“Yes,” Cain growled, his eye still swollen shut and dark purple.

Celaena smiled sweetly and waved her fingers.

**The girl smiled in such a way that said yes, she was most certainly insane.**

Rowan snorted, and Celaena sent him a scowl. “Something funny?”

“No,” the fae prince said, but his eyes laughed and danced with mirth, “Just… reminds me of an incident in your future.”

Ah, Remelle certainly wouldn’t be approaching him anytime this century.

**But she said, “Those men were a joke. I wanted you to get some real experience in a controlled environment.”**

Chaol went very still. “A  _ joke _ ? Celaena, you let a civilian be held hostage and force her way out against her captors.  _ That _ is not something to joke about.”

“Relax,” Celaena groaned. “I was there and I would have stopped them from seriously maiming her. She needed the experience in a situation where the consequences if she messed up would be minimal.”

Chaol’s brow furrowed further.

**...“Look at it this way, Yrene Towers: now you know you can do it. That man was twice your weight and had almost a foot on you, and you downed him in a few heartbeats.”**

Renault hesitated, then decided against whatever it was he was about to say.

**“You said those men were a joke.”**

**A fiendish grin. “To me, they are.”**

“Honestly, if they could be found in  _ Innish _ , of all places, they are bound to be a joke,” Celaena said.

Grave’s mouth split open in a brutish smirk. “ _ You _ were found in Innish, Sardothien, what does that say about you.”

Celaena glared at him, but she had nothing to refute that point. Not at that particular time in her life.

**Yrene’s blood chilled. “I—I’ve had enough of today. I think I need to go to bed.”**

**The girl sketched a bow. “And I should probably be on my way. Word of advice: wash the blood out of your clothes**

“Cold water only,” Celaena added, for the advice of everyone around the table.

**and don’t tell anyone what you saw tonight. Those men might have more friends, and as far as I’m concerned, they were the unfortunate victims of a horrible robbery.” She held up a leather pouch heavy with coins and stalked past Yrene into the inn.**

Dorian sighed deeply and massaged his forehead. By the gods, Celaena was going to be the death of him.

**Yrene spared a glance at the bodies, felt a heavy weight drop into her stomach, and followed the girl inside. She was still furious with her, still shaking with the remnants of terror and desperation.**

“Fear is good,” Celaena said with crossed arms. “It will keep you alive, but desperation will only get you killed.”

She seemed to pin Pelor with her eyes as she said this.

**So she didn’t say good-bye to the deadly girl as she vanished.**

“I’m done,” Pelor announced. “Can I choose the next person to read, Your Highness?” 

He looked at Dorian hopefully as he said it, and Dorian sighed. He couldn’t refuse that freckled pout with pleading eyes. “Fine, Pelor, but please, hurry. I would like to end this novella before it is time to retire for the night.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” the boy bowed with a dip of his head, and turned to study the occupants of the table.

“Princess Nehemia, Your Highness,” he said, oblivious to how the entire table stilled at his blatant addressing of the foreign princess. “Would you like to read?”

Nehemia studied him with dark, calculating eyes, then waved for one of her guards to collect the book. “I will read, but you will all have to forgive me for any mistakes. I am here to learn Common, and I have not completely grasped your language.”

A weight seemingly lifted off his shoulders, Pelor nodded quickly and handed the book to Nehemia’s guard, who in turn passed it on to Nehemia. She crossed one leg over the other and rested the book on her knee in a more comfortable reading position, then cleared her throat.

“Chapter six,” she began.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, if any of you are into Hetalia/History fics (or by some mirical actually like my writing enough to read another one of my stories), you should check out a new story I just started (well, it's the one I said I was putting this one off to write and wasn't going to post until it was done, but I got impatient).
> 
> I know, I know, shameless self-promoting, but I hope you give it a try :)


	18. if I'm flying solo, I'm flying free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My parents were in an accident and they have at least four broken bones between the two of them. My mom's awaiting surgery in the hospital to repair her arm, and my dad's at home with two broken elbows and strained ribs, so he can't do anything beside sit and watch TV, so I have a lot to do around the house, and I start uni in two days AND I'm working fourteen hours a week.
> 
> Basically, what I'm saying is, I have no idea when I'll be able to update next. Taking care of my dad, even with my siblings' help, is a full-time job, not counted a full semester of classes, and work. I'll try to update as soon as I can, but it might have to waiting until later November or even Christmas before I can write again.
> 
> On the bright side, my dog is feeling better! She has a degenerative disk in her back, but the swelling's gone down and she's acting like her normal self again.

Nehemia’s voice was cool and cultured as she spoke, and despite her accent, Celaena could understand every word perfectly.

**Yrene did as the girl said and changed into another gown and apron before going to the kitchens to wash the blood from her clothes. Her hands were shaking so badly that it took longer than usual to wash the clothing, and by the time she finished, the pale light of dawn was creeping through the kitchen window.**

Rowan grimaced. He knew from experience how long it took to get blood out of clothing, especially when you were exhausted and terrified.

**She had to be up in ... well, now.**

Dorian winced internally behind a mask of indifference. So many things he needed to change around the empire, and this book was dragging every single one of them to light.

**Groaning, she trudged back to her room to hang the wet clothes to dry.**

Pelor wrinkled his nose. “Then they’re going to smell all musty!”

“It’s all she can do, boy,” Telmor shrugged, “And they wouldn’t be that out of place in Innish, anyways.”

**...She supposed she’d have to be the one to pretend to find the bodies, too. Gods, what a mess.**

“I suppose I could have disposed of the bodies,” Celaena admitted with a grimace. “But it would have taken too much time.”

Chaol leveled her with a flat look, though what exactly he was trying to convey, she didn’t know.

**Wincing at the thought of the long, long day ahead of her, trying to make sense of the night she’d just had, Yrene entered her room and softly shut the door. Even if she told someone, they probably wouldn’t believe her.**

Cain glared at Celaena. “I’m not sure I  _ do _ believe it,” he rasped, the bruises on his throat dark against his pale skin.

**It wasn’t until she was done hanging her clothes on the hooks embedded in the wall that she noticed the leather pouch on the bed, and the note pinned beneath it.**

Nox sat up straight.

**She knew what was inside, could easily guess based on the lumps and edges. Her breath caught in her throat as she pulled out the note.**

**There, in elegant, feminine handwriting, the girl had written:**

**_For wherever you need to go - and then some. The world needs more healers._ **

“Awww,” Grave crooned, “You’ve gone soft.”

Celaena scowled and bared her teeth. “If you want, we can go to the training grounds and see how  _ soft  _ I really am!”

“Celaena, Grave, cool down,” Chaol said, one hand on the sword at his hip. “There’s no need for fighting.”

Both of them gave him a look. Clearly, they disagreed.

**No name, no date. Staring at the paper, she could almost picture the girl’s feral smile and the defiance in her eyes. This note, if anything, was a challenge—a dare.**

**Hands shaking anew, Yrene dumped out the contents of the pouch.**

**The pile of gold coins shimmered…**

“Please tell me you left some for yourself?” Rowan leaned over and whispered.

Celaena just rolled her eyes.

**She blinked, and blinked again.**

**Not just gold, but also the brooch the girl had been wearing, its massive ruby smoldering in the candlelight.**

“What?” Celaena scowled at the looks directed at her. She crossed her arms and huffed. “I told you, I wasn’t on good terms with Arobynn. I was  _ glad  _ to be rid of it.”

The corners of Nox’s mouth twitched.

**A hand to her mouth, Yrene stared at the door, at the ceiling, then back at the small fortune sitting on her bed. Stared and stared and stared.**

**The gods had vanished, her mother had once claimed. But had they?**

“Yes,” Pelor muttered, then yelped when Renault kicked his shin again.

“Do you have a death wish, boy?” Renault snapped. “The gods won’t take much more blasphemy.”

Pelor just stuck his tongue out at the mercenary.

**Had it been some god who had visited tonight, clothed in the skin of a battered young woman?**

Rowan’s stomach lurched as he remembered Diana wearing Aelin’s skin. The silver that rimmed her eyes instead of gold. They way the goddess had been about to destroy a town and leave it to weigh on Aelin’s consciousness. 

And now the gods had abandoned them, left Aelin to be their puppet and their sacrifice and their pawn. They would destroy her, mentally, physically, emotionally, if it meant that they would get what they wanted.

And it wasn’t fair. She’d already suffered enough.

**Or had it merely been their distant whispers that prompted the stranger to walk down that alley?**

Celaena scowled.

**She would never know, she supposed. And maybe that was the whole point.**

**_Wherever you need to go_ ** **...**

**Gods or fate or just pure coincidence and kindness, it was a gift. This was a gift. The world was wide-open—wide-open and hers for the taking, if she dared. She could go to Antica, attend the Torre Cesme, go anywhere she wished.**

A small smile spread across Nehemia’s face as she read, thankful for her friend’s kindness to this stranger.

**If she dared.**

**Yrene smiled.**

**An hour later, no one stopped Yrene Towers as she walked out of the White Pig and never looked back.**

If anyone asked, Celaena was not hiding a smile.

“There is a time skip here,” Nehemia said, “It also switches to your point of view, Elentyia.”

**Washed and dressed in a new tunic, Celaena boarded the ship an hour before dawn. It was her own damn fault that she felt hollow and light-headed after a night without rest.**

Rowan’s brow furrowed in concern that he quickly stamped down. 

**But she could sleep today—sleep the whole journey across the Gulf of Oro to the Deserted Land. She** **_should_ ** **sleep, because once she landed in Yurpa, she had a trek across blistering, deadly sands—a week, at least, through the desert before she reached the Mute Master and his fortress of Silent Assassins.**

“Ugh,” Celaena let her head fall back to the backrest of the chair. “It was  _ awful. _ I didn’t know sand could  _ get _ in so many places.”

Pelor snickered into his fist.

**The captain didn’t ask questions when she pressed a piece of silver into his palm and went belowdecks, following his directions to find her stateroom. With the hood and blades, she knew none of the sailors would bother her. And while she now had to be careful with the money she had left, she knew she’d hand over another silver piece or two before the voyage was done.**

Rowan’s brow furrowed further. She hadn’t been in a good headspace when he’d met her - neither of them had - but he hadn’t realized her self-destructive behaviour went this far back.

**Sighing, Celaena entered her cabin—small but clean, with a little window that looked out onto the dawn-gray bay. She locked the door behind her and slumped onto the tiny bed. She’d seen enough of Innish; she didn’t need to bother watching the departure.**

**She’d been on her way out of the inn when she’d passed that horrifically small closet Yrene called a bedroom. While Yrene had tended to her arm, Celaena had been astounded by the cramped conditions, the rickety furniture, the too-thin blankets.**

Renault grimaced. 

**She’d planned to leave some coins for Yrene anyway—if only because she was certain the innkeeper would make Yrene pay for those bandages.**

“He’s awful,” Pelor said.

“Yes,” Rowan replied, already planning a  _ trip _ to Innish after the end of the war. “Yes, he is.

**But Celaena had stood in front of that wooden door to the bedroom, listening to Yrene wash her clothes in the nearby kitchen. She found herself unable to turn away, unable to stop thinking about the would-be healer with the brown-gold hair and caramel eyes, of what Yrene had lost and how helpless she’d become.**

Celaena didn’t want to think about how similar they were: girls of fallen kingdoms with big dreams that they never had the opportunity to realize. 

_ At least _ , she sighed internally,  _ Yrene was at the Torre Cesme, now. _

**There were so many of them now—the children who had lost everything to Adarlan.**

Celaena’s scowl was so fierce, Dorian felt himself wilt a little inside. Even though it wasn’t directed at  _ him _ , it was directed at the empire his family ruled. The empire he’d never thought to question before he’d dragged an emaciated girl from the mines to be his Champion.

**Children who had now grown into assassins and barmaids, without a true place to call home, their native kingdoms left in ruin and ash.**

Celaena’s heart plummet at the thought of the antler throne, at the library in Orynth, at the frozen river she’d dragged herself out of by sheer force of will.

**Magic had been gone all these years. And the gods were dead, or simply didn’t care anymore.**

Pelor opened his mouth, but a glare from Renault had it snapping shut again.

**Yet there, deep in her gut, was a small but insistent** **_tug_ ** **. A tug on a strand of some invisible web. So Celaena decided to tug back, just to see how far and wide the reverberations would go.**

Rowan leaned back. So it was being put into motion, even then.

Under her breath, Nehemia murmured. “The players in an unfinished game.”

“Huh?” Celaena asked, turning to her friend.

“It is nothing,” Nehemia said, smiling and returning to the book.

**It was a matter of moments to write the note and then stuff most of her gold pieces into the pouch. A heartbeat later, she’d set it on Yrene’s sagging cot.**

**She’d added Arobynn’s ruby brooch as a parting thought. She wondered if a girl from ravaged Fenharrow wouldn’t mind a brooch in Adarlan’s royal colors.**

Dorian cleared his throat lightly, rubbing his signet ring.

**But Celaena was glad to be rid of it, and hoped Yrene would pawn the piece for the small fortune it was worth. Hoped that an assassin’s jewel would pay for a healer’s education.**

**So maybe it was the gods at work.**

Rowan scowled.

If anyone noticed, they didn’t say anything.

**Maybe it was some force beyond them, beyond mortal comprehension. Or maybe it was just for what and who Celaena would never be.**

Celaena looked down at her palms and spread fingers. They were far too calloused, molded to perfectly fit the handle of a blade. Scars littered them, too, and the fingers in her right hand had always been stiffer than the ones on her left after she’d shattered the bones and tore the tendons when the door slammed shut.

They were assassin’s hands, through and through. Nothing soft and soothing about them. Nothing beyond that single shriveled drop of water magic in her blood indicated she’d ever had a desire to do something else with her life. She was fire and darkness, blood and Death incarnate.

She didn’t have healer’s hands, and she’d never had.

**Yrene was still washing her bloodied clothes in the kitchen when Celaena slipped out of her room, then down the hall, and left the White Pig behind.**

**As she stalked through the foggy streets toward the ramshackle docks, Celaena had prayed… Yrene Towers seized her life with both hands and set out for the pale-stoned city of Antica. Prayed that somehow, years from now, Yrene Towers would return to this continent, and maybe, just maybe, heal their shattered world a little bit.**

Rowan’s scowl melted into something soft.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Celaena saw that and relaxed ever so slightly. So her gamble had paid off. She’d bet on Yrene, and she’d come back.

**Smiling to herself in the confines of her cabin, Celaena nestled into the bed, pulled her hood low over her eyes, and crossed her ankles. By the time the ship set sail across the jade-green gulf, the assassin was fast asleep.**

“That is the end of this chapter,” Nehemia said, then turned the page. “Actually, it is the end of the novella.” She turned her attention to Dorian. “You mentioned that you wished to stop after this, prince?”

Dorian sighed and ran a hand down his face. He studied the hourglass on the fireplace mantle, then craned his neck to look out the window. “We still have a little while before nightfall, let’s try to make the most of it. We’ll continue reading until then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It would make me feel a lot better if you reviewed this story and my other story, I Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly to Be Fearful of the Night, which is a historical Hetalia fanfiction. But, as always, don't feel pressure and enjoy the new school year!


	19. the road less travelled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! IT IS ME!
> 
> First, I want to thank you all for your amazing well-wishes and your patience. My dog is fully recovered, my dad is home and my mom is set to be released from the hospital in a few weeks, and we're all as safe as can be during the pandemic. 
> 
> Am I blowing off homework to write this? Maybe.
> 
> Am I going to read Plato's Republic once I'm done? Probably not!
> 
> Whatever, I just had midterms, I'm doing what I want for a little while. Besides, I have reading week next week, so hopefully I'll be able to catch up then. I can't promise anything, especially because my schedule for November is PACKED, but I will try to upload at least one more chapter before Christmas break.
> 
> Stay safe everyone and enjoy!
> 
> (LOL, probably not)

Dorian held out his hand for the book. “I’ll read next.”

He sounded absolutely exhausted, as though he wished to be anywhere but there. Celaena wondered how much of a tole the last novella had taken on him.

“The Assassin and the Desert,” he said, flipping the page. His signet ring glinted in the candlelight.

**There was nothing left in the world except sand and wind.** ****

A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered the suffocating heat of the desert. The mirages radiating off the crimson sand and the parching sun beating down on her. And then the chill that swept in a night, where the thin clothes did nothing to stop the sand and the wind from cutting to her bones.

She’d take the cold mugginess of Adarlan over that any day. If she never stepped foot in the desert again, it would be too soon.

**At least, that’s how it seemed to Celaena Sardothien as she stood atop the crimson dune and gazed across the desert.**

“Wait,” Pelor cocked his head and suddenly looked very interested. “The sand there is actually red? I thought it was just a muta - mete - ugh-”

“Metaphor,” Renault sighed, looking straight up at the ceiling, exasperated. “And, yes, the sand is  _ actually  _ red.”

“Okay, okay,” Pelor held his hands up in a placating gesture. "I was just curious."

**Even with the wind, the heat was stifling, and sweat made her many layers of clothes cling to her body. But sweating, her nomad guide had told her, was a good thing—it was when you didn’t sweat that the Red Desert became deadly…**

Her tongue became dry in her mouth, and she suddenly had the urge to plunge her face in the nearest pitcher of water and drink until she was sick.

**Oh, the** **_miserable_ ** **heat. It invaded every pore of her, made her head throb and her bones ache. The muggy warmth of Skull’s Bay had been nothing compared to this…**

Nox winced. “Yeah, I suppose, being from Terrasan, extreme warmth is not your friend.”

Celaena bristled. “What?”

“I just meant that it rarely gets  _ that _ hot in Terrasan,” Nox explained. “I’m from there, too, remember?”

“I don’t remember enough about Terrasan to say for certain,” Celaena said stiffly, looking away.

It was a lie, of course. The cool, haunting breezes of Terrasan mocked her wherever she went. She wondered if the king had known, then, and that was why he sent her to Endovier instead of outright killing her. 

If that had been his plan, to break her by being imprisoned  _ so close _ to the border of Terrasan, he hadn’t succeeded.

**Beside her, the nomad guide pointed a gloved finger toward the southwest. “The** **_sessiz suikast_ ** **are there.”...**

Telmor frowned. “The what?”

Rowan beat her to the answer. “The Silent Assassins, an order based in the Red Desert,” he turned to Celaena and lowered his voice. “Is this where you met Ansel?”

Celaena swallowed roughly and turned away from him.

**“To learn obedience and discipline,” Arobynn Hamel had said.**

Nox grimaced.

**_In the height of summer in the Red Desert_ ** **was what he’d failed to add. It was a punishment. Two months ago, when Arobynn had sent Celaena along with Sam Cortland to Skull’s Bay on an unknown errand, they’d discovered that he’d actually dispatched them to trade in slaves. Needless to say, that hadn’t sat well with Celaena or Sam, despite their occupation. So they’d freed the slaves, deciding to damn the consequences.**

Nehemia rubbed her thumb along the back of Celaena’s hand. “Thank you, Elentyia. And you will get through this, as you have so many times before.”

Celaena didn’t say anything but leaned into the touch slightly.

**But now ... As punishments went, this was probably the worst. Given the bruises and cuts that were still healing on her face a month after Arobynn had bestowed them, that was saying something.**

Dorian faltered in his reading.

Internally, Rowan was plotting the slowest, most painful way to  _ extract information _ from Arobynn without killing him. Perhaps he’d find Aedion early, let Aelin’s cousin have a go at the man who’d broken the closest thing he had to a sister.

**Celaena scowled. She pulled the scarf a bit higher over her mouth and nose as she took a step down the dune. Her legs strained against the sliding sand, but it was a welcome freedom after the harrowing trek through the Singing Sands, where each grain had hummed and whined and moaned. They’d spent a whole day monitoring each step, careful to keep the sand beneath them ringing in harmony. Or else, the nomad had told her, the sands could dissolve into quicksand.**

Pelor’s face drained of colour.

**Celaena descended the dune, but paused when she didn’t hear her guide’s footsteps. “Aren’t you coming?”**

**The man remained atop the dune, and pointed again to the horizon. “Two miles that way.” His use of the common tongue was a bit unwieldy, but she understood him well enough.**

**She pulled down the scarf from her mouth, wincing as a gust of sand stung her sweaty face. “I paid you to take me there.”**

Chaol frowned. “Are they really that feared?”

“Yes,” Celaena said immediately. “And for good reason, too.”

**“Two miles,” he said, adjusting the large pack on his back. The scarf around his head obscured his tanned features, but she could still see the fear in his eyes.**

**Yes, yes, the** **_sessiz suikast_ ** **were feared and respected in the desert. It had been a miracle that she’d found a guide willing to take her this close to their fortress. Of course, offering gold had helped. But the nomads viewed the** **_sessiz suikast_ ** **as little less than shadows of death…**

“They can’t be more terrifying than you,” Pelor squeaked, gesturing to her outfit.

Celaena smiled, all pearly teeth and feral amusement. “You haven’t seen  _ anything, _ boy.”

Rowan crossed his arms. 

**She studied the westward horizon. She could see nothing beyond dunes and sand that rippled like the surface of a windblown sea.**

**“Two miles,” the nomad said behind her. “They will find you.”**

“How?” Nehemia asked.

Celaena shrugged. “They just do.”

**Celaena turned to ask him another question, but he had already disappeared over the other side of the dune. Cursing him, she tried to swallow, but failed. Her mouth was too dry. She had to start now, or else she’d need to set up her tent to sleep out the unforgiving midday and afternoon heat.**

She felt phantom sweat drip down her neck.

**Two miles. How long could that take?**

**Taking a sip from her unnervingly light waterskin,**

Rowan ignored the screaming in his chest.

**Celaena pulled her scarf back over her mouth and nose and began walking.**

**The only sound was the wind hissing through the sand.**

**Hours later, Celaena found herself using all of her self-restraint to avoid leaping into the courtyard pools or kneeling to drink at one of the little rivers running along the floor.**

Grave and Cain were smirking in her direction. She just rolled her eyes, even as rage pulsed in her blood.

**No one had offered her water upon her arrival, and she didn’t think her current escort was inclined to do so either as he led her through the winding halls of the red sandstone fortress.**

Rowan clenched his teeth. He was going to have  _ words _ with Ansel and Ilias when he got back.

**The two miles had felt more like twenty. She had been just about to stop and set up her tent when she’d crested a dune and the lush green trees and adobe fortress had spread before her, hidden in an oasis nestled between two monstrous sand dunes.**

**After all that, she was parched. But she was Celaena Sardothien. She had a reputation to uphold.**

“That reputation is in  _ sham-bles _ ,” Grave sang.

Celaena cocked an eyebrow and gestured to the blades hanging from her hips. “I think  _ you _ are forgetting my reputation, which, I might add, is still a ghost story even after a year in the Mines. I think  _ you _ are forgetting the hundreds of people I’ve killed and the way I single-handedly toppled Ioan Jayne’s Underworld regime.”

Grave and the other seedy members around the table froze. “That was you?” he croaked.

Celaena’s smile was more of challenge, her teeth bared, too wide, too perfect. “He took someone from me.”

She noticed in the corner of her eyes the way the guards in the room shifted closer to Dorian and Nehemia, their hands of their weapons and shields raised a fraction.

She ignored the prickling in her eyes.  _ Sam. _

“Who’s Ioan Jayne?” Pelor asked, voice small. The name sounded familiar, for some reason, but he couldn’t quite remember…

“The Crime Lord of Rifthold,” Telmor said, a weariness settling on his aging features. “In his own way, he’s just as feared as Celaena - or, well, he  _ was _ .” 

Pelor turned to Celaena. “And you -”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and tried to ignore the phantom feeling of Gloriella sweeping over her limbs. “I did. His Second, Rouke Farran, is probably in charge now.”

Chaol cleared his throat, “Um, no, he’s not. He was killed a few months after you went to the mines, probably by his own Second.”

Celaena stilled. Her fingers gripped the armrests of the chair so tightly her knuckles turned white.  _ “What?” _

She didn’t scream, she didn’t even raise her voice. She was deadly calm, almost emotionless, unmoving even as Nehemia began prying her fingers from the chair and squeezing them tight in her grip. 

“Farran’s dead.” It wasn’t a question. Fury reared inside her, prickly and burning so hot it stung. Beside her, Rowan froze, his form going completely still, coiled like a wildcat ready to strike. Celaena wondered if he looked into her eyes and saw her - or rather, what she would be in the future - or if he only saw a monster.

He would be right, of course, and righter still if he feared it.

Celaena took a deep breath and closed her eyes, willing herself to focus on Nehemia’s hand crushing hers instead of that deep-set fury at Farran’s death.  _ Trust him to die before she could kill him. _

Well, she could always desecrate his grave.

“Continue, Dorian,” she said, opening her eyes. “We don’t have all the time in the world.”

Beside her, Rowan shifted.

**They approached an open set of doors at the end of the hallway. Her escort—a middle-aged man flecked with scars that stood out like chalk against his tan skin —said nothing to her… They entered a giant chamber flanked by blue-painted wooden pillars that supported a mezzanine on either side. A glance into the darkness of the balcony informed her that there were figures lurking there—watching, waiting. There were more in the shadows of the columns. Whoever they thought she was, they certainly weren’t underestimating her. Good.**

Pelor wasn’t looking at her, his face pale.

**A narrow mosaic of green and blue glass tiles wove through the floor toward the dais, echoing the little rivers on the lower level. Atop the dais, seated among cushions and potted palms, was a whiterobed man.**

**The Mute Master. She had expected him to be ancient, but he seemed to be around fifty.**

Nox shrugged, “I suppose he’d still have to be strong enough to keep his place as master of the keep.”

Celaena shook her head, mindful of the eyes watching her every move. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure it functions more like territorial lordship, in that Ilias - his son - is his heir and would inherit upkeep of the Silent Assassins.”

Dorian scratched his chin and contemplated that.

**...Though the Master had no visible weapons, the two servants fanning him with palm leaves were armed to the teeth. Her escort stopped a safe distance from the Master and bowed.**

**...Her escort nudged her with an elbow, and Celaena cleared her dry throat as she stepped forward.**

**She knew the Mute Master wouldn’t say anything; his self-imposed silence was well-known.**

“So it is self-imposed,” Renault said, leaning back in his chair. 

Grave shot him a look that was half curious and half disgusted.

“What?” Renault protested. “There were all kinds of rumours! I didn’t know which one to believe.”

**It was incumbent upon her to make the introduction. Arobynn had told her exactly what to say—** **_ordered_ ** **her was more like it. There would be no disguises, no masks, no fake names. Since she had shown such disregard for Arobynn’s best interests, he no longer had any inclination to protect hers.**

Rowan clenched his jaw so tightly he was worried he might break a tooth.

**She’d debated for weeks how she might find a way to protect her identity—to keep these strangers from knowing who she was—but Arobynn’s orders had been simple: she had one month to win the Mute Master’s respect. And if she didn’t return home with his letter of approval—a letter about** **_Celaena Sardothien_ ** **— she’d better find a new city to live in. Possibly a new continent.**

“Yeah,” Nox said dryly, “I think you have more to worry about than your identity.”

Celaena scowled, but said nothing. She hated the humiliation of those first few weeks at the keep, where her reputation, her  _ name, _ meant nothing.

**“Thank you for granting me an audience, Master of the Silent Assassins,” she said, silently cursing the stiffness of her words.**

**She put a hand over her heart and dropped to both knees. “I am Celaena Sardothien, protégée of Arobynn Hamel, King of the Northern Assassins.” Adding “Northern” seemed appropriate; she didn’t think the Mute Master would be much pleased to learn that Arobynn called himself King of** **_all_ ** **the Assassins.**

“He really calls himself that?” Pelor asked, looking offended.

Renault rolled his eyes. “Your half-drunk master couldn’t measure up to Arobynn Hamel anyway, boy, so stop trying.”

**But whether or not it surprised him, his face revealed nothing, though she sensed some of the people in the shadows shifting on their feet.**

That, at least, brought some semblance of a smirk to Celaena’s face.

**“My master sent me here to beseech you to train me,” she said, chafing at the words. Train** **_her_ ** **!...**

Grave cackled, his head slamming back against the chair in hysterical mirth. “You’re an over confident bitch!”

Celaena hissed and bared her teeth, but didn’t move. She wasn’t sure how much she could get away with this close to her last outburst, crown prince as a sponsor or not. 

**Nothing.**

**...At last, two bare, brown feet stopped before her.**

**A dry finger tilted her chin up, and Celaena found herself staring into the sea- green eyes of the Master. She didn’t dare move. With one movement, the Master could snap her neck.**

Rowan’s fingers ached around the armrests. Ansel and Ilias had mentioned  _ nothing _ about that, let alone Aelin!

**This was a test—a test of trust, she realized.**

**She willed herself into stillness, focusing on the details of his face to avoid thinking about how vulnerable she was… It was impossible to tell what kingdom he hailed from; his hazelnut skin suggested Eyllwe. But his elegant, almond-shaped eyes suggested one of the countries in the distant southern continent…**

“So the silent assassins come from anywhere?” Pelor asked, tilting his head slightly.

“As long as you have the money to make it there and the skill to prove you should stay,” Rowan shrugged, a calm mask settled over his face, “I’ve heard they’ll take anyone.”

Pelor hummed and looked contemplative. 

**She braced herself as his long fingers pushed back the loose strands of her braided hair, revealing the yellowing bruises still lingering around her eyes and cheeks, and the narrow arc of the scab along her cheekbone.**

If she looked carefully, that scar was still there, shining silver just a shade lighter than her skin where his ring had caught her cheekbone. She was sure that Rowan, with his superior eyesight and the way he seemed to know her in the future, knew it was there, but no one else did. It was nothing that couldn’t be passed off as a relic from the mines, nothing that couldn’t be passed off as a hundred things other than the truth.

Sometimes, she could pretend it wasn’t there. Sometimes, she could pretend her life hadn’t been shattered in a single night.

**...Master’s eyes narrowed, his lips forming a tight line as he looked at the remnants of the bruises on the other side of her face. She was lucky that Arobynn was skilled enough to keep his blows from permanently marring her.**

Except for that damned scar that shone like a duality against her light golden skin.

Celaena wrapped her fingers around Nehemia’s and squeezed back, just to keep herself grounded.

**A twinge of guilt went through her as she wondered if Sam had healed as well.**

She inhaled sharply but quietly. What had he looked like, after? Gods, she hoped it was nothing like what his - what  _ he _ had looked like underneath that sheet in the Keep.

**In the three days following her beating, she hadn’t seen him around the Keep. She’d blacked out before Arobynn could deal with her companion.**

Dorian flexed his fingers. The more he read about Arobynn Hamel, the more ready he was to storm his Keep and damn the consequences.

But he couldn’t, because if word got back to his father, if his father heard that he was harbouring a fae - and a fae prince at that…

Well, Hollin might rule after all.

**And since that night, even during her trip out here, everything had been a haze of rage and sorrow and bone-deep weariness, as if she were dreaming while awake.**

Rowan did not like that, did not like that at all. It was far too alike to how he felt after Lyria for his comfort. When he got back to Aelin, they were going to have a long talk about her mental health.

_ If, _ some treacherous part of him whispered.  _ If you get back. _

He clamped that part of him down.

**She calmed her thundering heart just as the Master released her face and stepped back. He motioned with a hand for her to rise, which she did, to the relief of her aching knees.**

**The Master gave her a crooked smile. She would have echoed the expression —but an instant later he snapped his fingers, triggering four men to charge at her.**

“What!” Pelor half jumped out of his seat. “He can’t do that!”

“Thank you, Pelor,” Dorian said, a wry smile on his face. “You’ve just volunteered to read.”

“But - but -” Pelor spluttered, looking totally at odds with the book that was passed down to him. “I just read!”

Telmor sighed and took the book Pelor’s shaking hands. “If it is alright with you, Your Highness, I’ll read and give the boy a break.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, reading The Republic, I'm starting to understand why Socrates was killed...


	20. the road to ruin (we're starting at the end)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I putting off two essays (the role of Aspasia in the politics of Periclean Athens, and the economic impacts of the potato on European society) and about sixty pages of reading and notes to write this? Yes, yes I am.
> 
> Also, people have been asking me why Rowan still has access to his magic even though the clock tower still stands. Basically, Rowan is out of time. He might be in the year the champion tournament takes place, but a part of him remains where he left - not his body or anything, but some metaphysical part of him (soul? spirit? magic? idk) is still in the year the final battle takes place. It's kind of like how when Celaena went down into the tomb or whatever in CoM and she shifted into her fae form despite still basically being in Adarlan. So even though the wyrdstone towers are attempting to stifle his magic, because he doesn't belong in that time, because he is essentially coming from a different dimension, they can't stop it completely. They might succeed in stopping him from reaching full power, but he still has his magic.
> 
> Also, this chapter is a bit of a heavy one, focusing on Arobynn Hamell's treatment of Celaena (because, ya know, that's what the book's chapter focuses on, so...) and I just want everyone to be prepared!

Telmor flipped to the next page and watched Celaena out of the corner of his eye. He was an old man now, closer to fifty summers than forty, and this girl they were reading about was so  _ young. _ Younger than he himself had been when he’d been drafted and sent to burn entire countries to the ground. 

So young, yet her eyes were so old.

She was a ghost story before she turned sixteen, a slave at seventeen, a Champion by eighteen. And he’d had a hand in it, indirectly or not. He’d been part of the regiments that had destroyed Orynth and left Terrasan as nothing more than a wasteland. And the way she sat, lounging languidly on her chair like it was a throne, yet observing them with a cool, calculating gaze and poised to move the moment they shifted, built a chilling image of her true capabilities far beyond what she’d let them see.

And it was only what she let them see, he was sure of it. Every flick of her hand, every word out of her mouth was calculated, sent during the optimal time for the most impact. Telmor wondered if that was something Arobynn Hammel had trained her in or if it was a defence system she’d built up herself, to guard against wandering hands and unimpressed looks. 

Then there was the matter of the Fae prince. Telmor had killed a few in his time, vulnerable without their magic as they were when Terrasen had fallen, but it had never been without a heavy cost and this male, broad and tanned and  _ teeming  _ with immortal grace, looked just as deadly as Celaena did, even without his magic.

(Although, if he was being honest with himself, he wouldn’t be surprised if the prince had found a way to bypass whatever curse had fallen upon magic so many years ago. There were far too many sudden gusts of wind and suspicious drops in temperature for it to be anything else.)

She was studying him now, the assassin. Her chin rested on her knuckles as she watched him flip to the correct page. It was a startling gaze, crackling with wildfire and blood. Telmor was suddenly  _ very _ glad he’d kept that gaze away from Pelor. He was just a boy, poison master that he might be, and the old soldier couldn’t blame him for being absolutely terrified about their present company.

He cleared his throat. “Chapter Two.”

**They didn’t have weapons, but their intent was clear enough.**

**...Celaena leapt back, landing where her escort had been standing only seconds before, careful to avoid crashing into the Master.**

The Champions listen to her fight with rapt attention. Nox even looked like he was taking mental notes on her fighting style. That made Celaena grit her teeth.  _ Stupid fucking books and giving away her secrets to her enemies. _

On the bright side, the guards in the room looked like they were reassessing her ability to fight when dehydrated and suffering from heat exhaustion. On the downside, Nehemia’s guards were moving closer to the princess. 

Celaena could barely keep herself from rolling her eyes. Nehemia was her friend and Celaena wouldn’t do  _ anything _ to jeopardize that, but even if she wasn’t there was nothing they could do to stop her. 

**This was another test—a test to see at what level she might begin her training. And if she was worthy.**

**Of course she was worthy. She was Celaena Sardothien, gods be damned.**

Grave had that stupid grin on his face again, one that Celaena was itching to cut off his face.

“Relax,” Rowan said quietly, so softly her ears could barely pick up the cadence of the words. “If they don’t see you as a threat now, it’s on their heads.”

She sighed and shifted in her seat to face Nehemia, away from where Telmor was reading from, but they’d be fools if they thought that it meant that she wasn’t paying attention to the book.

**The third man pulled out two crescent-shaped daggers from the folds of his beige tunic and slashed at her. Her layered clothing was too cumbersome for her to dart away fast enough, so as he swiped for her face, she bent back. Her spine strained, but the two blades passed overhead, slicing through an errant strand of her hair. She dropped to the ground and lashed out with a leg, sweeping the man off his feet.**

“Holy fuck!” Pelor jumped in his seat. “Gods be damned, are you sure you’re not Falnor’s blessed?”

Renault kicked him  _ hard _ on the shin beneath the table and hissed, “Boy, the gods are going to get real tired of your insolence soon, and then you’ll be a pile of ash on the floor.”

Pelor grimaced and rubbed his leg, but not before kicking Renault back. “And if the gods are watching every blasphemous thing I say, then why haven’t they stopped me yet, huh? That’s right, because they don’t care -  _ Ow!” _

This time it was Telmor who reached over and squeezed Pelor’s shoulder  _ hard _ with his free hand. “Be quiet, boy. Don’t test the gods, not now.”

Gods be damned, Telmor wasn’t going to watch another child die.

**The fourth man, though, had come up behind her, a curved blade flashing in his hand as he made to plunge it through her head.**

Celaena, meanwhile, was gripping the armrests of her chair with a death-grip. Pelor was close, so close he probably didn’t realize what he’d just stumbled upon. Of all the people to learn  _ what _ she was, she hadn’t expected it to be the boy-assassin whose voice hadn’t even dropped yet.

Beside her, Nehemia crossed one leg over the other and thought about her conversation with Elena the night before. Yes, the players were all coming together. Mala incarnate, Silba’s blessed, Tehome’s son, Deanna’s chosen, and the wild magic of the original three sisters all travelling toward a shared final destination. There were others who had not yet joined them, yes - Hellas and Temis and the Three-Faced Goddess - but they would come in time. That meant Nehemia’s own journey was almost over, but not yet.

She still had time.

Nehemiah reached over and pried Celaena’s hand off the armrests and twined their fingers together. She would guide her friend and help her people -  _ both _ their peoples - as much as she could, usher her friend into accepting her destiny and reclaiming her throne. 

And perhaps, one day, Nehemia would see her again amongst the stars.

**She rolled, and the sword struck stone, sparking.**

Chaol winced ever so slightly. He could almost  _ hear _ the screeching sound that he’d never  _ quite _ gotten used to.

**By the time she got to her feet, he’d raised the sword again. She caught his feint to the left before he struck at her right. She danced aside. The man was still swinging when she drove the base of her palm straight into his nose and slammed her other fist into his gut.**

Cain shifted in his seat, his own nose throbbing in response. The fucking bitch  _ better _ have not done any permanent damage to his face.

**The man dropped to the floor, blood gushing from his nose. She panted, the air ragged in her already-burning throat. She really,** **_really_ ** **needed water.**

Celaena grimaced and ran her tongue discreetly over her lips. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry, remembering the awful thirst of the desert.

“Here,” Nehemia signalled for a servant hovering around the edge of the room to bring a pitcher of water.

Celaena watched the boy pour the water into the crystal cup, the cool condensation running on the outside and pooling lightly on the table. She took a sip gratefully, letting the ice clink against her teeth and soothe the sudden parchness in her throat.

“Thanks,” she whispered after what was probably a moment too long, but her throat constricted in its dryness and protested the word.

Nehemia just squeezed her hand in silent understanding and offered her friend a gentle smile.

**None of the four men on the ground moved.**

“Not surprised,” Nox said with a hint of a wince in his tone.

**The Master began smiling, and it was then that the others gathered around the chamber stepped closer to the light. Men and women, all tan, though their hair showed the range of the various kingdoms on the continent.**

Dorian raised an eyebrow. Apparently, the Fae prince hadn’t been lying after all.

**...Celaena kept one eye on the four men before her as they got to their feet, sheathed their weapons, and stalked back to the shadows. Hopefully they wouldn’t take it personally.**

“Oof,” Pelor grimaced, “That would just suck.”

Celaena clamped down on the laugh that rose suddenly in her throat and instead settled for a smirk. “It certainly would.”

**She scanned the shadows again, bracing herself for more assailants. Nearby, a young woman watched her, and she flashed Celaena a conspirator’s grin. Celaena tried not to look too interested, though the girl was one of the most stunning people she’d ever beheld. It wasn’t just her wine-red hair or the color of her eyes, a red-brown Celaena had never seen before.**

Rowan straightened imperceptibly in his seat. So now he would find out the whole story behind Ansel. 

He wondered if what he learned could give him enough leverage over her to convince her to join their cause earlier. The silent assassins and soldiers of the Wastes would certainly be an asset early in their fight.

**No, it was the girl’s armor that initially caught her interest: ornate to the point of probably being useless, but still a work of art.**

Chaol looked at the book, unimpressed. What was the point of armour if it was too finely decorated to protect you?

**The right shoulder was fashioned into a snarling wolf’s head, and her helmet, tucked into the crook of her arm, featured a wolf hunched over the noseguard. Another wolf’s head had been molded into the pommel of her broadsword.**

Okay, Chaol had to admit, it sounded pretty cool. Perhaps for a lord’s ceremonial armour, but not something that an assassin would wear.

**...The Master clapped Celaena on the shoulder and beckoned to the girl to come forward. Not to attack—a friendly invitation...**

**The Master used his hands to form a series of motions between the girl and Celaena. The girl bowed low, then gave her that wicked grin again. “I’m Ansel,” she said, her voice bright, amused. She had a barely perceptible lilt to her accent that Celaena couldn’t place. “Looks like we’re sharing a room while you’re here.”**

“Hah!” Grave barked. “You’re not important enough to even get your own room!”

Celaena scowled but crossed her arms. “Considering I’m the only one between the two of us who’s  _ actually _ made it there, I’d say I’m still ahead of you.”

Grave’s eyes narrowed, as though he was trying to figure out exactly what she was saying.

**The Master gestured again, his calloused, scarred fingers creating rudimentary gestures that Ansel could somehow decipher…**

“Man, it must get old - you know, all that hand waving and everything,” Pelor sighed, swinging his legs under the table. 

Telmor lowered the book and gave him a deadpan look. “How else do you expect the  _ Mute _ Master to communicate?”

Pelor just shrugged and returned to shifting in his seat.

**Celaena fought her frown. “One month.” She inclined her head to the Master. “If you allow me to stay that long.”**

**With the month that it took to get here, and the month it would take to get home, she’d be away from Rifthold three months before she returned.**

A quarter of a year was far too long, Celaena remembered. Far too long.

**The Master merely nodded and walked back to the cushions atop the dais. “That means you can stay,” Ansel whispered, and then touched Celaena’s shoulder with an armor-clad hand. Apparently not all the assassins here were under a vow of silence—or had a sense of personal space.**

Rowan hid a smile, remembering how tactile Aelin had become around her court. Constantly bumping shoulders, sprawling across laps, reclining against each other’s shoulders, it had become almost as though she had never been touched-avoidant before Mistward.

**“You’ll start training tomorrow,” Ansel went on. “At dawn.”**

Celaena gave an almost inaudible groan.

**The Master sank onto the cushions, and Celaena almost sagged with relief. Arobynn had made her think that convincing him to train her would be nearly impossible. Fool. Pack her off to the desert to suffer, would he!**

Celaena fought the urge to groan and bury her head in her hands.  _ She’d _ been the fool. And the humiliation! 

Ugh, she was not looking forward to giving the other Champions more ammunition against her.

**“Thank you,” Celaena said to the Master, keenly aware of the eyes watching her in the hall as she bowed again. He waved her away.**

**“Come,” Ansel said, her hair shimmering in a ray of sunlight. “I suppose you’ll want a bath before you do anything else.** **_I_ ** **certainly would, if I were you.”**

At this, Rowan did let a chuckle escape him, though he quickly turned it into a cough before anyone could notice. 

**...Alone with Ansel as they strode through the halls, Celaena keenly felt the absence of the long daggers usually sheathed in her belt. But they’d been taken from her at the gate, along with her sword and her pack.**

She remembered vividly the foreign absence of her blades on her person. She’d never really been without her weapons before then; there’d always been at least one dagger tucked somewhere in the folds of her clothes, even if the others had been too much to carry. But the assassins at the desert keep had searched her meticulously to the point where Celaena wasn’t even sure she would have been able to hide a razor blade without them noticing.

**She let her hands dangle at her sides, ready to react to the slightest movement from her guide. Whether or not Ansel noticed Celaena’s readiness to fight, the girl swung her arms casually, her armor clanking with the movement.**

“That really can’t be good for a  _ silent assassin,” _ Dorian said, lounging on his throne and giving a lazy wave of his hand. “I mean, the vanity of it all.”

Celaena rolled her eyes. “Look who’s talking,” she muttered under her breath.

Beside her, Nehemia squeezed her hand in lieu of a laugh as she caught her friend’s whisper.

**Her roommate. That was an unfortunate surprise. Sharing a room with Sam for a few nights was one thing.**

Grave wiggled his eyebrows obscenely and Rowan fought the urge to bash his face in.

**But a month with a complete stranger? Celaena studied Ansel out of the corner of her eye. She was slightly taller, but Celaena couldn’t see much else about her, thanks to the armor. She’d never spent much time around other girls, save the courtesans that Arobynn invited to the Keep for parties or took to the theater, and most of them were not the sort of person that Celaena cared to know.**

“Except for Lysandra,” Rowan said with a knowing grin.

Celaena scowled. “No,  _ especially  _ Lysandra.”

“Who’s Lysandra?” Pelor asked, looking between the two of them in confusion.

Rowan and Celaena answered at the same time.

“A friend.”

“A  _ bitch.” _

The room went silent. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Dorian fighting back a laugh. Instead, she turned to Rowan.  _ “No.” _

_ “Yes,” _ he responded with that insufferable smile that showed off his fangs.

_ “Ugh!” _

This time, Celaena really did give in to the urge to slam her head against the table. With her forehead pressed against the cool wood, she heard Pelor speak.

“I still don’t know who Lysandra is!”

**There were no other female assassins in Arobynn’s guild.**

That wiped the grin off Rowan’s face. A beautiful girl in a keep alone with a bunch of creepy men? For their sakes, they better not have even  _ entertained _ the idea of touching her.

**But here ... in addition to Ansel, there had been just as many women as men. In the Keep, there was no mistaking who she was. Here, she was only another face in the crowd.**

Cain smiled viciously, blood dribbling from the split in his lip where it was pulled taut. She’d get what was coming to her, the bitch.

**For all she knew, Ansel might be better than her.**

“Never,” Rowan teased, nudging her with his elbow.

With her head still pressed against the table, Celaena just groaned and pushed at his face with fumbling hands.

Upon the dais, Dorian tensed. Celaena had just assaulted a diplomat and a  _ prince _ at that. The guards, picking up on Dorian’s silent agitation, went rigid and placed their hands on their swords, waiting for an order.

But Dorian held off, waiting to see what would happen.

To his surprise, the prince did nothing but smirk with a raised eyebrow. If Dorian didn’t know any better, he would have said that it was  _ affection _ shining in his eyes.

But that was ridiculous, he assured himself. Celaena was eighteen and the prince was undoubtedly centuries old. She’d be nothing but a dalliance to him, a mortal plaything he’d get bored of within a few years, a few decades at most. There was no reason why  _ love _ should be written all over the male’s face.

He turned to Chaol, but his friend answered his question before he could voice it. “I see it too,” he said, and he was scowling as he watched.

Dorian sat back in his throne. He didn’t understand what was going on between the fae and Celaena, but he didn’t like it.

Ignoring whatever one-sied glaring contest the Prince and the Captain were having with the fae, Telmor read on. He was too old to get involved in childish spats over love.

**The thought didn’t sit well. “So,” Ansel said, her brows rising. “Celaena Sardothien.”**

**“Yes?”**

**Ansel shrugged—or at least shrugged as well as she could, given the armor. “I thought you’d be ... more dramatic.”**

Rowan choked on his own tongue. Dear gods, just give her a bowl of emeralds and a shape-shifter willing to play along and they’d see how dramatic she could be.

**“Sorry to disappoint,” Celaena said, not sounding very sorry at all.**

Nehemia caught Rowan’s eye and glanced down at Celaena, still hitting her head gently against the table muttering about  _ courtesans _ and  _ fucking whores who try to become my future friends. _

Rowan just raised an eyebrow, lips twitching as he desperately tried to bury his laugh in his chest.

Nehemia just sighed and looked away, patting Celaena on the shoulder with the smallest of amused smiles on her face.

**Ansel steered them up a short staircase, then down a long hall. Children popped in and out of the rooms along the passage, buckets and brooms and mops in hand. The youngest looked about eight, the eldest about twelve.**

Something clenched in Dorian’s chest. He wondered how many of those children were displaced war orphans, drawn to the Silent Assassins because there was no other option.

**“Acolytes,” Ansel said in response to Celaena’s silent question.**

**“And how old were you when you came here?” The more she knew the better.**

**“I had barely turned thirteen,” Ansel said. “So I narrowly missed having to do the drudgery work.”**

She was older than Pelor was, Telmor noted, and the boy was already a poisons master. She was far older than Celaena had been when she’d begun garnering a reputation for bloodshed. But this Ansel had still been a child.

Telmor loved his country, loved it enough to pick up a sword and fulfill his duty to the crown, but the one thing he could not forgive it for was the children they left behind, those who had been just collateral damage in the slaughter.

**“And how old are you now?”**

**“Trying to get a read on me, are you?”**

**Celaena kept her face blank.**

**“I just turned eighteen. You look about my age, too.”**

**Celaena nodded. She certainly didn’t have to yield any information about herself.**

“Elentiya,” Nehemia sighed. “That is not how you make friends. We’ve been over this.”

“Ansel is traitor and bitch and she’s  _ not _ my friend,” Celaena said, her voice muffled by the table.

Rowan leaned back in his seat. Aelin had told him briefly about her time in the Red Desert and she’d seemed friendly enough with Ansel when she’d arrived. But now he wondered what had actually happened in those months she’d glossed over in Mistward.

**Even though Arobynn had ordered her not to hide her identity here, that didn’t mean she had to give away details. And at least Celaena had started her training at eight; she had several years on Ansel. That had to count for something.**

Nox huffed out a laugh. “I’m going to say it’s going to count for a lot more than just that.”

**“Has training with the Master been effective?”**

**Ansel gave her a rueful smile. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve been here for five years, and he’s still refused to train me personally...**

**Well,** **_that_ ** **was certainly odd. How had she gone so long without working with the Master? Though, many of Arobynn’s assassins never received private lessons with him, either.**

Grave scoffed something under his breath that was either a bitter comment about Arobynn’s refusal to accept him into the Guild or a dig at Celaena’s relationship with the King of Assassins.

Either way, Celaena just let it go.

**“Where are you from, originally?” Celaena asked.**

**“The Flatlands.”**

Dorian frowned. He’d studied geography, as was expected of the Crown Prince who would one day rule over the expanse of a vast empire, but he’d never heard of the Flatlands.

Beside him, Chaol shook his head in response to Dorian’s silent question. No, he hadn’t heard of it either.

**The Flatlands ... Where in hell were the Flatlands? Ansel answered for her. “Along the coast of the Western Wastes—formerly known as the Witch Kingdom.”**

All the colour drained from Pelor’s face. Even Cain and Grave had gone still.

“Iron teeth or Crochan?” Renault asked, his voice just barely above a whisper. His red hair stood stark against his ashen skin.

“Both,” Rowan answered for Celaena, who had also gone pale at the memory of Ansel’s story. “But it was cursed in a civil war by the last Crochan Queen so the land would wilt beneath the feet of the Ironteeth.”

Pelor looked as though he was about to collapse from terror.

**The Wastes were certainly familiar. But she’d never heard of the Flatlands.**

“A human kingdom, then,” Dorian surmised, suppressing the trembling in his voice.

**“My father,” Ansel went on, “is Lord of Briarcliff. He sent me here for training, so I might ‘make myself useful.’...**

Celaena finally raised her head and scowled. She still didn’t understand  _ why _ Ansel had lied to her.

(She wasn’t hurt about it, no matter what anyone else might say.)

**Despite herself, Celaena chuckled. She stole another glance at Ansel’s armor. “Don’t you get hot in all that armor?”**

**“Of course,” Ansel said, tossing her shoulder-length hair. “But you have to admit it’s rather striking.**

Celaena tilted her head in silent admission.

**...“Where did you get it from?”**

“Ooh, so vain you want to copy someone else’s armour?” Grave cooed.

Celaena opened her mouth but Telmor quickly read ahead.

**Not that she might want some for herself; she had no use for armor like that.**

“See?” Celaena crossed her arms. “Just making conversation.”

Besides, she’d had armour that had been far superior to Ansel’s. Absentmindedly, she wondered what Arobynn had done with it after her capture.

**“Oh, I had it made for me.” So—Ansel had money, then. Plenty of it, if she could throw it away on armor.**

Nox flexed his fingers and ignored the phantom urged to swipe Ansel’s purse off her person.

**“But the sword”—Ansel patted the wolf-shaped hilt at her side—“belongs to my father. His gift to me when I left. I figured I’d have the armor match it—wolves are a family symbol.”**

**They entered an open walkway, the heat of the midafternoon sun slamming into them with full force.**

Celaena grimaced. She hated the heat, hated how it made her sluggish and drowsy. She would take the bitter snows of Adarlan over the Red Desert’s heat waves any day, thank you very much.

**Yet Ansel’s face remained jovial, and if the armor did indeed make her uncomfortable, she didn’t show it. Ansel looked her up and down. “How many people have you killed?”**

Chaol blinked. Blunt then, well… perhaps they’d finally be able to put a figure to the bloodshed.

**Celaena almost choked, but kept her chin high. “I don’t see how that is any of your concern.”**

**Ansel chuckled. “I suppose it’d be easy enough to find out; you must leave** **_some_ ** **indication if you’re so notorious.” Actually, it was Arobynn who usually saw to it that word got out through the proper channels. She left very little behind once her job was finished.**

And  _ that _ was the reason why it was so difficult to tally up a list of her victims. Only those who Arobynn Hamell wanted dead would end up being known; everyone else was collateral damage and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Celaena had boasted that she’d killed dozens, perhaps even hundreds more than they’d originally thought, but Chaol wouldn’t be surprised if the actual number far surpassed that.

**“I’d want** **_everyone_ ** **to know that I’d done it,” Ansel added.**

“Which is  _ why,” _ Celaena scoffed, “That her charade didn’t last.”

She didn’t elaborate when everyone looked at her with questioning faces.

**...“So, which of you looks worse?” Ansel asked suddenly. “You, or the person who gave those to you?”**

Celaena’s stomach lurched, phantom pain exploding across her face like the knuckles that had cracked her cheekbones.

**Celaena knew that she meant the fading bruises and cuts on her face.**

Rowan breathed in deeply, leashing his magic within himself. He  _ knew _ her history, he  _ knew _ Arobynn’s manipulations, he  _ knew _ the abuse she’d endured, it shouldn’t still come as a surprise. 

And yet, every time he thought of his mate, trapped in that Keep as her master slipped an onyx ring on her finger and brought back awful memories of the decade spent under his cruel rule, ice fractals exploded along the armrests of his chair.

Yes, he was  _ definitely _ going to take his time killing Arobynn Hamell.

**Her stomach tightened. It was getting to be a familiar feeling.**

**“Me,” Celaena said quietly.**

**She didn’t know why she admitted it. Bravado might have been the better option. But she was tired, and suddenly so heavy with the weight of that memory.**

Nehemia released Celaena’s hand to scoot her chair closer and wrap her arm around her friend’s elbow in the closest thing she could give to hug under these circumstances.

**“Did your master do that to you?” Ansel asked. This time, Celaena stayed silent, and Ansel didn’t push her.**

Distantly, Celaena wondered exactly what Ansel had thought when she’d all but admitted to her weakness, but she couldn’t dwell on it. Not without bringing up memories that she’d rather forget and risk breaking down  _ again. _

She could save the tears for the middle of the night when she was alone, when there was no one to hear her shuddering sobs as she lit every candle in the room just to drive the darkness away.

**...Ansel continued on toward a pair of carved wooden doors.**

**“The baths. It’s one of the places here where silence is actually enforced, so try to keep quiet. Don’t splash too much, either.**

Pelor made a face. Then  _ what _ was the point in having a bath?

**...Ansel pushed one of the doors open. “Take your time. I’ll see to it that your things are brought to our room. When you’re done, ask an acolyte to take you there. Dinner isn’t for a few hours; I’ll come by the room then.”**

**Celaena gave her a long look. The idea of Ansel—or anyone—handling the weapons and gear she’d left at the gate wasn’t appealing. Not that she had anything to hide—though she did cringe inwardly at the thought of the guards pawing at her undergarments as they searched her bag…**

Grave gave her a hungry look and Rowan actually  _ growled. _

“Fuck off, Grave,” Celaena sighed, totally ignoring whatever the  _ heck _ Rowan was doing. “I can guarantee you know you’ll never see them.”

**But she was here at their mercy, and her letter of approval depended on her good behavior. And good attitude.**

**So Celaena merely said “Thank you,” before striding past Ansel and into the herb-scented air beyond the doors.**

**...There were multiple large pools—some steamed, some bubbled, some steamed** **_and_ ** **bubbled—but the one Celaena slipped into was utterly calm and clear and cold.**

**Celaena stifled a groan as she submerged herself and stayed under until her lungs ached. While modesty was a trait she’d learned to live without, she still kept herself low in the water.**

Nehemia’s arm around hers tensed suddenly, and Celaena patted her hand gently. “It’s fine, I got used to it.”

Surprisingly, that seemed to do nothing to ease the tension around the table.

**Of course, it had nothing to do with the fact that her ribs and arms were peppered with fading bruises, and that the sight of them made her sick.**

Celaena’s face dropped into a scowl.

**Sometimes it was sick with anger; other times it was with sorrow. Often, it was both. She wanted to go back to Rifthold—to see what had happened to Sam, to resume the life that had splintered in a few agonizing minutes.**

Now she knew how foolish she’d been, thinking she could chase a childish dream such as that.

Things would  _ never _ go back to how they’d been before; the scars crisscrossing her back were proof of that.

**...Ansel wasn’t in their tiny, rectangular room when Celaena arrived, though someone had unpacked Celaena’s belongings. Aside from her sword and daggers, some undergarments, and a few tunics, she hadn’t brought much—and hadn’t bothered to bring her finer clothing. Which she was grateful for, now that she’d seen how quickly the sand had worn through the bulky clothes the nomad had made her wear.**

The thought of the sand tearing holes in her fine silks and satins made her skin crawl. She didn’t know how Nehemia could stand it.

**There were two narrow beds, and it took her a moment to figure out which was Ansel’s. The red stone wall behind it was bare. Aside from the small iron wolf figurine on the bedside table, and a humansized dummy that must be used to store Ansel’s extraordinary armor, Celaena would have had no idea that she was sharing a room with anyone.**

**Peeking through Ansel’s chest of drawers was equally futile.**

Nehemia  _ tsked _ in disapproval. “ _ Privacy, _ Elentiya. Honestly…”

**...Though, depending on how much of him Arobynn had left intact, he might not even be able to now.**

Bile climbed in Celaena’s throat. Gods, Sam’s  _ fingers. _ They had been nothing but swollen, shatter lumps of bloodied flesh hanging limply off the grey hand of a corpse. And she knew  _ exactly _ what tool Jayne and Farran had used; she’d used it on her own marks far too often.

**Arobynn would never permanently maim** **_her_ ** **, but Sam might have fared worse. Sam had always been the expendable one.**

She kept her face blank and her eyes staring straight ahead, less the shadows in her mind consume her entirely.

**She shoved the thought away and nestled farther into the bed. Through the small window, the silence of the fortress lulled her to sleep.**

**_She’d never seen Arobynn so angry, and it was scaring the hell out of her._ **

_ “Fuck,” _ Celaena heard Rowan mutter, but it was shallow, like it was happening underwater.

**_He didn’t yell, and he didn’t curse—he just went very still and very quiet. The only signs of his rage were his silver eyes, glittering with a deadly calm_ ** **.**

Those silver eyes, like snow glistening in the moonlight, deadly and calm and willing to swallow you up in a moment, haunted her dreams at night.

**_She tried not to flinch in her chair as he stood from the giant wooden desk. Sam, seated beside her, sucked in a breath._ **

Pelor let out a tiny whimper. From what he’d heard of Arobynn Hamell, he was not the kind of man to anger lest you wanted to die a slow and painful death via Adarlan’s Assassin.

And now, looking across the table and seeing his prodigy frozen in place, gaze distant and hands trembling ever so slightly, he was sure it was so much  _ worse. _

**_She couldn’t speak; if she started talking, her trembling voice would betray her. She couldn’t endure that kind of humiliation_ ** **.**

**_“Do you know how much money you’ve cost me?” Arobynn asked her softly_ ** **.**

“Of course it’s about the money, not the lives they saved,” Nox muttered under his breath.

**_Celaena’s palms began sweating_ ** **. It was worth it,** **_she told herself. Freeing those two hundred slaves was worth it. No matter what was about to happen, she’d never regret doing it_ ** **.**

And then she got to the mines and saw how futile her efforts had been.

**_“It’s not her fault,” Sam cut in, and she flashed him a warning glare. “We both thought it was—”_ **

Suddenly, Rowan was even more grateful to the boy who’d captured Aelin’s heart so long ago. He’d tried to save her, over and over again, and then was a debt Rowan could never repay.

**_“Don’t lie to me, Sam Cortland,” Arobynn growled. “The only way_ ** **you** **_became involved in this was because she decided to do it—and it was either let her die trying, or help her.”_ **

**_Sam opened his mouth to object, but Arobynn silenced him with a sharp whistle through his teeth. His office doors opened. Wesley, Arobynn’s bodyguard, peered in. Arobynn kept his eyes on Celaena as he said, “Get Tern, Mullin, and Harding.”_ **

Oh, Rowan was going to kill them too. And he would gladly let Celaena help.

**_This wasn’t a good sign. She kept her face neutral, though, as Arobynn continued watching her. Neither she nor Sam dared speak in the long minutes that passed. She tried not to shake_ ** **.**

**_At last, the three assassins—all men, all cut from muscle and armed to the teeth, filed in. “Shut the door,” Arobynn said to Harding, the last one to enter. Then he told the others, “Hold him.”_ **

“What the fuck?” Renault whispered to himself, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the group.

**_Instantly, Sam was dragged out of his chair, his arms pinned back by Tern and Mullin. Harding took a step in front of them, his fist flexing_ ** **.**

**_“No,” Celaena breathed as she met Sam’s wide-eyed stare. Arobynn wouldn’t be that cruel—he wouldn’t make her watch as he hurt Sam…_ **

“Is this - is this -” Pelor couldn’t seem to get the words out, but Rowan shook his head, saving Celaena from having to explain.

“No,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “But this is where the pieces are set in motion.”

**_But Celaena kept her head high, even as Arobynn said quietly to her, “You are not going to enjoy this. You will not forget this. And I don’t want you to.”_ **

Dorian felt sick. How in Hellas had Celaena survived ten years with this man? Honestly, it was a surprise she hadn’t shattered completely.

**_She whipped her head back to Sam, a plea for Harding not to hurt him on her lips_ ** **.**

**_She sensed the blow only a heartbeat before Arobynn struck her_ ** **.**

A growl built in Rowan’s throat. It was one thing to hear her recount that night, it was another too read of the aftermath that littered her body, but they were overshadowed by the sheer atrociousness of having to read her memories as they happened to her in vivid detail.

He was going to rip out Arobynn’s throat, Rowan decided.

**_She toppled out of her chair and didn’t have time to raise herself properly before Arobynn grabbed her by the collar and swung again, his fist connecting with her cheek._ **

The scar on her cheekbone stung just as it had when his ring had caught her the first time.

**_Light and darkness reeled. Another blow, hard enough that she felt the warmth of her blood on her face before she felt the pain_ ** **.**

Pelor’s pale face went ashy grey, then green. Renault didn’t even protest when the boy curled up in his chair and buried his face in the mercenary’s sleeve.

**_Sam began screaming something. But Arobynn hit her again. She tasted blood, yet she didn’t fight back, didn’t dare to._ **

Faintly, Celaena could feel Nehemia seething next to her, the princess’s arm moved to wrap her in a full embrace, but she couldn’t feel it. She’d gone completely numb, staring unseeingly at the vase of flowering almond branches arranged in the middle of the table.

**_Sam struggled against Tern and Mullin. They held him firm, Harding putting a warning arm in front of Sam to block his path_ ** **.**

**_Arobynn hit her—her ribs, her jaw, her gut. And her face. Again and again and again._ **

Telmor’s voice shook as he read. He was  _ very _ glad he’d taken the book from Pelor when he did; he was a soldier, he’d seen worse done on the battlefield, he could get through the chapter.

That’s what he kept telling himself.

**_Careful blows—blows meant to inflict as much pain as possible without doing permanent damage._ **

And yet - and yet he hadn’t cared for the scar that marred her cheek, for the cracked ribs that had made it agony to breathe for weeks, for the dark purple and black bruise smeared across her abdomen that she was almost certain had been internal bleeding.

Now, over a year later, Celaena wondered if he’d actually debated killing her that night, if he had cared whether she lived or died in some backwater town on her way to the desert.

**_And Sam kept roaring, shouting words she couldn’t quite hear over the agony_ ** **.**

**_The last thing she remembered was a pang of guilt at the sight of her blood staining Arobynn’s exquisite red carpet. And then darkness, blissful darkness, full of relief that she hadn’t seen him hurt Sam_ ** **.**

Telmor set the book down and breathed out heavily, noting the faces of those around him. “Your Highness, if I could be so bold,” he hesitated, weighing the consequences of speaking up or staying silent. “Might I suggest a break? It’s - it’s getting late, after all.”

It took Dorian several heartbeats to respond, and when he did, his gaze was wild, disoriented. “Yes - yes, I think we could all do to retire for tonight. We’ll - we’ll come back tomorrow afternoon.”

The hall was silent. No one made to move.

Then Pelor made eye contact with Celaena’s distant gaze. He lurched away from Renault and vomited all over the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I accidentally written Telmor as a dad and Renault as Pelor's long-suffering older brother??? Whoops!


	21. to fly on scorched wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAHHHHHH sorry about dropping off the face of the earth for like, two months, but I finished finals months and exams and now I'm on an extended holiday break because of the lockdown in my province, so hopefully I'll be able to update again soon. And to any Jewish readers, happy late Hanukkah! I'm sorry I didn't get a chapter up in time to wish you a happy holiday during the actual celebration.
> 
> This chapter was a pain in my ass to write, but I got it done and it's really long, so I hope this makes up for two months of no content!

Training with Chaol had been quiet, subdued. He hadn’t brought up what the books had revealed the night before, and she wasn’t inclined to broach the subject. Instead he’d pushed her to run, one kilometer, then two, and her feet had carried her, arms pumping, past five, past ten, until Chaol had called breathlessly for a break at fifteen. He was breathing heavily, sweat drenching his white tunic, plastering it against his chest. In the chilled air, his breath manifested before him in puffs and his nose was tinged pleasantly pink.

“Celaena,” he wheezed, struggling to draw a breath in the frozen air. He held up a hand for her to stop. “We’ve run far enough, we should head back.”

She ignored him. She was restless, adrenaline tingling beneath her skin, making it hard to stay still and concentrate. Fleetfoot, sensing her agitation, began pacing, pawing at the frozen earth. Although Celaena had tried to stop her, it seemed her dog wouldn’t be letting her out of her sight, even if that meant joining her master and Chaol on a thirty-kilometre run on an old path outside her usual romping grounds. Sometimes, Celaena wondered if Fleetfoot actually knew what was going on in the council chambers, or if her puppy was just picking up on her body language. Celaena shifted her weight from foot to foot, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. 

Logically, Celaena knew Chaol was right. They’d run out of the training grounds, through the game park and up the slope that led to the hills beyond the castle. Up here, with fewer trees to stop the wind and puddles of half-frozen mud caking the path, it was easy to stumble, to fall, to make a single mistake that would cost you your life. It was a damp cold, the kind that seeped into your bones and lingered, even when the rest of the world had warmed. Even with the sun shining behind the cloud cover, the air was crisp and now that she’d stopped running, Celaena could feel the sweat beginning to cool against her skin. If she wasn’t careful up here, wearing only her undershirt and thin breeches, the crisp spring breeze would kill her. 

“Alright,” she said after what was probably a moment too long.

She wasn’t looking at him, but she could sense his firm gaze, the questions that bubbled within. But he only said, “How about we just take it slowly on the way down, cool off and let our muscles relax. You had us picking up a good pace on the way here; we’re well ahead of the training schedule.”

“Fine.” Celaena turned and started down the path, picking her way over stones and mud puddles. She wouldn’t look at Chaol, couldn’t bear to see the concern in his eyes - or worse, the pity. She knew what she’d been like the night before, unresponsive in the chair until Nehemia had turned her to embrace her properly, and then she’d clung to the princess like a life-line, like a  _ gods damned coward. _ She’d been shaking, she remembered, shaking enough to jangle the bracelets on Nehemia’s arms, and all she could think about were the almond branches in the centrepiece, Arobynn’s smell enveloping her,  _ suffocating _ her. 

She’d shown unacceptable weakness that night, had been ever since these damned books had arrived. She didn’t want to think about any of it, about Sam, about Ansel, about the King or Arobynn or the fall of Terrasan, and  _ especially _ not about Endovier. That monster roiled beneath her skin, angry and vengeful and slamming against the cage she’d trapped it in, demanding to be let free, to turn on her enemies and  _ kill them. _ It wanted her to regress, to reclaim her past and end those who’d ended  _ her _ life. The  _ her _ that Celaena no longer allowed herself to dwell on, because if she did, if she remembered, then that monster, that  _ thing _ stirring deep within her bones, would escape, and Celaena didn’t know if anything would survive that - if  _ she _ would survive.

“Celaena.” Chaol caught up to her and kept pace at her side. Fleetfoot bounded up to him and he scratched behind her golden ears absentmindedly, a pensive look on his face. “If you -  _ when _ you win, would you go back to Arobynn Hamel?”

Celaena faltered in her stride, stumbling ever so slightly on the trail. Several heartbeats passed as they walked in silence. “I think,” she swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I think I’d have to. I don’t know if my freedom still holds - or if it ever did in the first place - and if I’m not, he’ll stop at nothing to bring me back. He’s invested too much in me to do otherwise.”

They continued for a long while, listening only to the wind whipping around their heads and the few birds that still sang this early in the year. She let her hand trail over the branches of the fallen fir that they stepped over. When she spoke, her voice was brittle, like the battering winds had shred away a part of herself. 

“Sam died because we were free.” Her voice trembled and she cursed it internally. “I didn’t want to think, before - before the book, I mean, but reading it,  _ seeing _ Arobynn again…”

Chaol nodded mutely, as though he understood the conclusion she didn’t want to voice. 

_ Arobynn had killed Sam. _

And damn, if that didn’t break his heart. Seeing her walking beside him, all of barely eighteen and already with haunted eyes and bowed shoulders, like those he saw in his seasoned guard, he wanted to pull Dorian aside and punch him for letting those books be read aloud, for letting her past, all those private memories, be violated by the likes of the other champions. 

She shivered in the wind, the sweat cooling against her body and trapping the chill within her bones. He wished he had a cloak, or something, to wrap around her shoulders. He doubted his arm would be appreciated.

The castle came into view before them and Fleetfoot took off, barking at the white-robed figure in the distance. In the shadow of the castle gardens, Nehemia bent down to welcome the incoming blur of fur, and Celaena’s frozen expression softened into a smile. Chaol let himself fall back behind her, staying a few paces away. 

He didn’t like this, didn’t like this at all. But Celaena had a friend, and as much as Chaol wished that was him she ran toward, he would not begrudge her of that. Not now.

**oO0Oo**

The ancient stones seemed to trap the cold within them, leeching the heat from the fires right out of the air. Even with the hot bath Celaena had soaked in for forever after their morning run, she was still cold, like it was her very soul that refused to warm. 

Now she sat curled up in what was quickly becoming  _ her _ chair in the council room, a thick woollen blanket spread over her and Nehemia and fur-lined boots keeping her toes from freezing. She was still wearing her weapons, yes, and she had a feeling she’d soon need them more than ever, but the weather was making her lethargic and all she wanted to do was join Fleetfoot in front of the roaring fire in their room.

The clouds that had been threatening her and Chaol on their run had made good on their promise. Freezing rain splattered against the stain-glass windows that depicted the king’s  _ momentous accomplishments. _ Droplets ran down the figures in the glass like tear-tracks.

All in all, a miserable day fitting for a miserable life.

As the other champions filed in, it seemed like they’d had the same idea as Celaena. Well, most of them. Cain and Grave were dressed just as normal, albeit in long-sleeved tunics, but the others were more sensible, bringing with them furred cloaks and thick clothes. Pelor even had a scarf draped loosely around his neck and Celaena was willing to bet anything that Telmor had ganged up with Pelor’s servants to bully him into it.

It was the Fae prince who surprised her the most. Despite hailing from the relatively warm kingdom of Doranelle, he hadn’t changed his wardrobe much to accommodate for the weather. In fact, Celaena would almost say he thrived in it, judging by the light tunics he wore and the lack of rosy cheeks present on his tanned face.

Once they were all seated, Dorian motioned to the servant behind him, who presented them with the book on a literal silver platter. “Cain!” Dorian said suddenly, pointing him out in the crowd for the servant. “You’ll read first.”

Cain accepted the book with gritted teeth and a look on his face that could kill. “Of course, your highness.” Then he grumbled something under his breath that Celaena couldn’t make out, but judging by the deepening frown on Rowan’s face, was nothing good.

“Chapter three,” Cain practically spat.

Celaena had to stop herself from sinking deeper into the warmth of the blanket at the reminder that this wasn’t some gods-awful dream. That she really  _ was _ reading her worst moments out in front of those who could be considered her enemies.

**Celaena dressed in the nicest tunic she’d brought—which wasn’t really anything to admire, but the midnight blue and gold** **_did_ ** **bring out the turquoise hues in her eyes.**

She stiffened in her seat and closed her eyes momentarily.  _ Please gods, not again. _

**She went so far as to apply some cosmetics to her eyes…**

Rowan gave an internal sigh. He  _ missed _ Aelin, more than he could say. If him doing this meant that another version of his mate would get the happiest ending possible, he wouldn’t regret it for the world, but it was a stark reminder, looking at the girl sitting next to him, that Aelin was here but  _ wasn’t. _ The other side of the bed remained cold and neat, no hint of golden hair sprawled across the pillows and no memory of warm weight pressed against his chest as she cuddled closer to him in sleep. Something in his heart pined for the woman he’d left behind and he only prayed to Mala and whatever other benevolent gods were listening that he’d get to see her again.

**Ansel made good on her promise to retrieve her before dinner and pestered Celaena with questions about her journey during the walk to the dining hall… Still exhausted despite her nap, and unsure when she could speak, Celaena kept her answers brief. She wouldn’t have minded missing dinner and just sleeping all night.**

“Are we - are we just going to forget what happened in the last chapter?” Pelor squeaked, his face flushing at the thought of how he’d reacted at the end.

Celaena unwrapped herself from the blankets just long enough to send a writhing glare in his direction.  _ “Yes.” _

“Okay, okay,” Pelor brought his hands up in a placating gesture. “Sorry.”

**Staying alert as they entered the hall was an effort of will. Yet even with her exhaustion, she instinctively scanned the room. There were three exits—the giant doors through which they entered, and two servants’ doors on either end. The hall was packed wall-to-wall with long wooden tables and benches full of people. At least seventy of them in total. None of them looked at Celaena as Ansel ambled toward a table near the front of the room. If they knew who she was, they certainly didn’t care. She tried not to scowl.**

Cain’s voice conveyed his smirk well enough for Celaena to see it without looking at him.

**Ansel slid into place at a table and patted the empty spot on the bench beside her. The nearest assassins looked up from their meal—some had been talking quietly and others were silent—as Celaena stood before them.**

**Ansel waved a hand in Celaena’s direction. “Celaena, this is everyone. Everyone, this is Celaena. Though I’m sure you gossips know everything about her already.” She spoke softly, and even though some assassins in the hall were talking, they seemed to hear her just fine. Even the clank of their utensils seemed hushed.**

Dorian hid a scowl. He didn’t like the thought of others eavesdropping on Celaena without her permission.

_ But isn’t that exactly what you’re doing? _ A traitorous voice inside him whispered.

**...Ansel helped herself, her armor glinting in the light of the ornate glass lanterns dangling from the ceiling, and then piled the same food on Celaena’s plate. “Just start eating,” she whispered. “It all tastes good, and none of it is poisoned… See?” she said between bites. “Lord Berick might want to kill us, but he knows better than to try to get rid of us through poisons…”**

_ Poison. Gloriella. _ Gods, Celaena really wasn’t looking forward to the next few days.

**“Lord Berick?” Celaena asked, now staring at her plate and all the food on it.**

**Ansel made a face, gobbling down some saffron-colored grains. “Our local villain. Or I suppose we’re** **_his_ ** **local villains, depending on who is telling the story.”**

Renault snorted quietly.  _ Nobles… _

**“He’s the villain,” said a curly-haired, dark-eyed man across from Ansel. He was handsome in a way, but had a smile far too much like Captain Rolfe’s for Celaena’s liking. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five…**

“So you’re all young.” Telmor assessed. It wasn’t a question.

Celaena just shrugged, though the blankets hid most of the movement. “As I said before, you don’t tend to survive long in this profession.”

Rowan scowled at the table.

**“Well,** **_you_ ** **are ruining** **_my_ ** **story, Mikhail,” Ansel said, but grinned at him. He tossed a grape at Ansel, and she caught it in her mouth with ease. Celaena still didn’t touch her food.**

“Elentiya, please.” Nehemia whispered quietly. “Take care of yourself.”

Celaena squeezed her hand beneath the blanket. 

**“Anyway,” Ansel said, dumping more food onto Celaena’s plate, “Lord Berick rules over the city of Xandria, and** **_claims_ ** **that he rules this part of the desert, too. Of course, we don’t quite agree with that, but ... The King of Adarlan set an embargo on the Red Desert after Lord Berick failed to send troops into Eyllwe to crush some rebellion**

Nehemia stiffened minutely.

**...Berick has been dying to get back in the king’s good graces ever since.**

Dorian twisted his signet ring thoughtfully. The Red Desert was so far out of the way, what did his father stand to gain by keeping Berick beneath his thumb?

**He somehow got it into his thick skull that killing all of us—and sending the head of the Mute Master to Adarlan on a silver platter—would do the trick.”**

“Violence is the only thing he knows,” Pelor agreed, oblivious to the tension that permeated the air at his words.

Renault just sighed as several guards shifted just out of sight. The boy had the survival instincts of a drunk squirrel.

**Ansel took another bite of meat and went on. “So, every now and then, he tries some tactic or other: sending asps in baskets, sending soldiers posing as our beloved foreign dignitaries”—she pointed to a table at the end of the hall, where the people were dressed in exotic clothing—“sending troops in the dead of night to fire flaming arrows at us ... Why, two days ago, we caught some of his soldiers trying to dig a tunnel beneath our walls.**

“Why did he think that would even work?” Chaol sighed quietly. Their castle currently held only one Desert-trained assassin, and even he knew that she would stop the plot before they’d even breach the gates, probably through some violent, messy way that Chaol would have to clean up.

**Across the table, Mikhail chuckled. “Nothing’s worked yet,” he said. Hearing the noise of their conversation, an assassin at a nearby table pivoted to raise a finger to her lips, shushing them. Mikhail gave them an apologetic shrug. The dining hall, Celaena gleaned, must be a silence-is-requested-but-not-required sort of place.**

Grave made a face.

**Ansel poured a glass of water for Celaena, then one for herself, and spoke more quietly. “I suppose that’s the problem with attacking an impenetrable fortress full of skilled warriors: you have to be smarter than us.**

Rowan was immediately reminded of the siege of Mistward. Had Luca recovered from Bas’ betrayal? Would he and Emrys and Malakai take up Aelin’s offer to join them in Terrasen at the end of the war? He hoped so - even he had grown fond of them during his time training Aelin.

He only hoped he would be back to see them.

**Though ... Berick is almost brutal enough to make up for it. The assassins that have fallen into his hands came back in pieces.”...**

Dorian’s stomach lurched. Hearing them talk about dismemberment and violent deaths like nobles talked about scores in a jousting tournament was unsettling, to say the least.

**“And Ansel knows that firsthand,” Mikhail chimed in, though his voice was little more than a murmur. “She’s had the pleasure of meeting him.”**

Celaena bit down on her lip to keep herself from scowling.

**Celaena raised a brow, and Ansel made a face. “Only because I’m the most charming of you lot.**

Rowan huffed out a laugh that immediately had all eyes drawn to him. “She and Celaena are one and the same,” he explained, his fangs barely visible through his smirk. “Imagine Celaena in a diplomatic situation and you basically have Ansel.”

Everyone turned to look at Celaena in silence, then Cain cackled.

Celaena ignored him in favour of making an offended noise in Rowan’s direction. “I am  _ nothing _ like that traitor.”

Rowan just shrugged. “At this point, at least, you both prefer blades to words.” He hesitated as if weighing whether or not to continue. “It changes when you meet me, a little bit. You’ve mastered both.”

Despite herself, Celaena preened a bit.

**The Master sometimes sends me to Xandria to meet with Berick—to try to negotiate some sort of accord between us. Thankfully, he still won’t dare violate the terms of parlay, but ... one of these days, I’ll pay for my courier duties with my hide.”**

All traces of Celaena’s good humour faded. “I should have shot her at twenty.”

Dorian turned with an alarmed look. “What?”

Celaena wrapped the blanket tighter around her and scowled. “She’s a bitch and I should have shot her a twenty.”

“Right.” Dorian blinked slowly, as if that cleared nothing up.

**Mikhail rolled his eyes at Celaena. “She likes to be dramatic.”**

Rowan snorted quietly.

_ Hello, bitch. _

_ Hello, traitor. _

They really were the same.

**“That I do.”**

**Celaena gave them both a weak smile. It had been a few minutes, and Ansel certainly wasn’t dead.**

“Now who’s dramatic?” Nox said, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“It’s a practical concern!” Celaena shot back.

**...Outside of the markets in Rifthold and the slave ships at Skull’s Bay, she’d never seen such a mix of different kingdoms and continents. And though most of the people here were trained killers, there was an air of peace and contentment— of joy, even.**

Pelor blinked. His Keep had never been like that, not even when the other assassins were around and his master was in a good mood.

**She flicked her eyes to the table of foreign dignitaries that Ansel had pointed out. Men and women, hunched over their food, whispered with one another and occasionally watched the assassins in the room.**

**“Ah,” Ansel said quietly. “They’re just squabbling over which of us they want to make a bid for.”**

“Bid?” Nehemia said, a sour taste in her mouth at the word. It was far too similar to slave auctions for her liking.

**...Mikhail leaned forward to see the ambassadors through the crowd. “They come here from foreign courts to offer us positions. They make offers for the assassins that most impress them—sometimes for one mission, other times for a lifelong contract. Any of us are free to go, if we wish. But not all of us want to leave.”**

“Why would you want to stay in that burning shit-hole?” Grave scoffed. “All the more opportunities for me, then.”

“Tell me, Grave,” Celaena said, unwrapping herself from the blankets enough to lean forward. “Aside from this…  _ competition, _ when was the last time you got an offer of a lifetime contract?”

Grave scowled at her, his teeth bared in a way that set Rowan on edge. Aside from Cain, it seemed he’d have another man to watch out for. 

**“And you two ...?”**

**“Ach, no,” Ansel said. “My father would wallop me from here to the ends of the earth if I bound myself to a foreign court...**

“Wait, she has a family?” Pelor straightened in his seat. “And she  _ willingly _ joined the Silent Assassins?”

Celaena shook her head. “Once. She’s not telling the full truth.”

“Oh…” Pelor’s shoulders slumped. He had hoped that there was someone out there in the guild who got their happy ending. Because… because maybe that meant he could have one too.

**Mikhail laughed under his breath. “Personally, I like it here. When I want to leave, I’ll let the Master know I’m available. But until then ...” He glanced at Ansel, and Celaena could have sworn the girl’s face flushed slightly.**

The image of Mikhail’s body stained red on the floor sat like lead in Celaena’s stomach.

**...Celaena asked, “What courts do the dignitaries hail from?”**

**“None in Adarlan’s grip, if that’s what you’re asking.” Mikhail scratched the day’s worth of stubble on his face. “Our Master knows well enough that everything from Eyllwe to Terrasen is** **_your_ ** **Master’s territory.”**

Chaol shifted in his seat. So Arobynn Hamel was that powerful - powerful enough that an entire order of legendary assassins didn’t dare challenge him.

He did  _ not _ like the idea of this man living within Rifthold’s boundaries.

**“It certainly is.” She didn’t know why she said it. Given what Arobynn had done to her, she hardly felt defensive of the assassins in Adarlan’s empire. But ... but to see all these assassins gathered here, so much collective power and knowledge, and to know that they wouldn’t dare intrude on Arobynn’s—on** **_her_ ** **—territory …**

Once, it had been her kingdom, built on blood and ruled through fear, where the wind was always at her heels and the dark was her most loyal friend. Where others knew that to cross her meant death, and she danced to swelling music in elegant gowns that twirled around her feet faster and faster and  _ faster _ to the rhythm of the pianoforte. When she had been judge, jury, and executioner, and the naive little girl thought nothing could bring her down.

Before the mines, before the Gloriella and the body in the Keep and the Lord of the North had watched his last heir succumb to the darkness writhing inside her.

**Celaena went on eating in silence as Ansel and Mikhail and a few others around them talked quietly. … Celaena felt someone’s attention on her, and tried not to blink when she noticed a dark-haired, handsome young man watching her from a few seats down. Stealing glances at her was more like it, since his sea-green eyes kept darting to her face, then back to his companions.**

Nehemia hid a smile behind her hand. Sometimes, Celaena could be so oblivious. 

**He didn’t open his mouth once, but pantomimed to his friends. Another silent one.**

**Their eyes met, and his tan face spread into a smile, revealing dazzlingly white teeth. Well, he was certainly desirable—as desirable as Sam, maybe. Sam—when had she ever thought of him as** **_desirable?_ **

Cain was giving her a shit-eating grin behind the book, Celaena was certain. Grave wasn’t even trying to hide his smirk.

Telmor sighed. Young love, fated for nothing more than tragedy.

**He’d laugh until he died if he ever knew she thought of him like that.**

Celaena swallowed past the lump in her throat. She’d been so stupid. If only she’d noticed sooner, if only she’d been kinder, had let herself entertain the notion of being loved, perhaps he would still be alive.

A firm hand squeezed her shoulder discreetly, and she turned minutely to catch Rowan’s gaze beside her. He smiled softly, both an apology and an understanding, before letting his hand drop. Her shoulder burned where the warmth of him lingered.

What was the nature of her friendship with this fae prince in the future? He was familiar with her, that was certain. Familiar enough to be considered her friend, to know the most intimate secrets she kept clutched in her heart where they couldn’t betray her. His presence here was unsettling. He knew who she had been and what she had done, and any number of those was enough to have her thrown in the dungeons or executed, but he didn’t look like he wanted to use the knowledge to further his standing in Adarlan’s eyes. In fact, if Celaena didn’t know any better, she would have said that his allegiance was firmly with  _ her, _ that he would choose her over the world time and time again. 

She didn’t know what to make of that. What did that mean for the future that could be?

**The young man inclined his head slightly in greeting, then turned back to his friends.**

**“That’s Ilias,” Ansel whispered, leaning closer than Celaena would like.**

**Didn’t she have any sense of personal space? “The Master’s son.”**

**That explained the sea-green eyes. Though the Master had an air of holiness, he must not be celibate.**

Pelor choked. “I could have gone my whole life without that image in my mind.”

Renault just rolled his eyes.

**“I’m surprised you caught Ilias’s eye,” Ansel teased, keeping her voice low enough for only Celaena and Mikhail to hear. “He’s usually too focused on his training and meditating to notice anyone—even pretty girls.”**

Rowan just felt an air of amusement surround him. Knowing how Ilias was head over heels for Ansel in his time, that seemed like a bit of a stretch.

**… It was flattering that he even considered her worthy of second thought; she’d avoided looking in the mirror in the month since that night with Arobynn, only checking to ensure nothing was broken or out of place.**

The air around the table went sombre again. Celaena avoided eye contact with anyone as she stared down at her scar-flecked hands.

**“So,” Mikhail said, shattering her thoughts as he pointed a fork at her, “when your master beat the living daylights out of you, did you actually deserve it?”**

Renault did a double-take. “Blunt, isn’t he?”

Celaena hummed absentmindedly.

“You know you did a kind thing, right?” Nehemia whispered to her, gripping her hand. “And that your master was wrong.”

“I know,” Celaena said, squeezing back. “I know.”

**Ansel shot him a dark look, and Celaena straightened. Even Ilias was now listening, his lovely eyes fixed on her face. But Celaena stared right at Mikhail.**

**“I suppose it depends on who is telling the story.”**

**Ansel chuckled.**

**“If Arobynn Hamel is telling the story, then yes, I suppose I did deserve it. I cost him a good deal of money—a kingdom’s worth of riches, probably.**

Chaol’s perpetual frown deepened. “That much?”

“Two hundred bodies that could be sold for profit, as well as irreversibly damaging his relations with Skulls Bay?” Celaena raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Definitely. He could have killed me for it, and it wouldn’t have been out of place. I’ve seen him execute others for less.”

Pelor shrunk back in his chair.

**I was disobedient and disrespectful, and completely remorseless about what I did.”**

**She didn’t break her stare, and Mikhail’s smile faltered.**

**“But if the two hundred slaves that I freed are telling the story, then no, I suppose I didn’t deserve it.”**

“If any good man is telling the story, you didn’t deserve it,” Telmor said firmly.

“But Arobynn is not a good man,” Celaena finished. 

Telmor nodded and resolutely avoided thinking about how the girl had ended up in this situation and the roles he’d played in the downfall of her home and the home of the princess sitting next to her. Those slaves could have been there because of  _ him. _

**None of them were smiling anymore.**

Dorian cleared his throat, “No, I imagine they weren’t.”

**“Holy gods,” Ansel whispered. True silence fell over their table for a few heartbeats.**

**Celaena resumed eating. She didn’t feel like talking to them after that.**

“Time skip,” Cain nearly growled, breaking the tension that had fallen over the room.

**Under the shade of the date trees that separated the oasis from the sand, Celaena stared out at the expanse of desert stretching before them. “Say that again,” she said flatly to Ansel. ...**

**But Ansel, who was wearing a white tunic and pants, and boots wrapped in camel pelts, just grinned and fastened her white scarf around her red hair. “It’s a three-mile run to the next oasis.” Ansel handed Celaena the two wooden buckets she’d brought with her. “These are for you.”**

All at once, nausea churned in Celaena’s stomach and her muscles burned with the phantom memory of the daily marathon through the desert. 

**Celaena raised her brows. “I thought I was going to be training with the Master.”**

**“Oh, no. Not today …**

Grave smirked, haughty amusement shining in his eyes.

**When he said ‘training’ he meant this. You might be able to wallop four of our men, but you still smell like the northern wind.**

Rowan blinked.  _ The northern wind. _ Ansel had claimed to be human, but to smell Terrasen on Celaena…

It could just be a metaphor, but still… It sat uneasily with him.

**… “That’s ridiculous. Where is he?” She looked toward the fortress towering behind them.**

**“Oh, you won’t find him. Not until you prove yourself. Show that you’re willing to leave behind all that you know and all that you were. Make him think you’re worth his time. Then he’ll train you.**

Celaena’s cheeks burned. How stupidly arrogant and entitled she must have seemed. 

She’d learned humility quickly.

**At least, that’s what I’ve been told.” Ansel’s mahogany eyes gleamed with amusement. “...I’m still waiting for** **_my_ ** **turn...”**

And that was what had festered within her, Rowan knew. Bitterness turned all too quickly to anger in mortals. Aelin had whispered the story to him at Mistward, where only the wind and the moon were privy to their conversation, but he’d never expected to hear the entire tale. 

He wondered if the Ansel he knew was just a facade too, or if regaining her throne in the Wastes had begun to heal her, just as it had with Aelin.

**This wasn’t at all what Celaena had planned. “But I need him to write me a letter of approval. I** **_need_ ** **him to train me. I’m** **_here_ ** **so he can train me—”**

Celaena just sighed amidst Grave’s snickering and the blatant amusement in Cain’s tone and resigned herself to the permanent feeling of humiliation that had settled in her cheeks.

**Ansel shrugged. “So are we all. If I were you, though, I’d suggest training with me until he decides that you’re worth it. If anything, I can get you into the rhythm of things. Make it seem more like you care about us, and less like you’re here just for that letter of approval. Not that we** **_all_ ** **don’t have our own secret agenda.”**

She’d told her.  _ She’d fucking told her right from the start. _

**Ansel winked, and Celaena frowned. Panicking now wouldn’t do her any good. She needed time to come up with a logical plan of action. …**

Chaol sighed. “Please don’t do anything stupid.”

Celaena just glared at him.

**When Celaena didn’t object further, Ansel held up a bucket. “So this bucket is for your journey back from the oasis—you’ll need it. And this one”—she held up the other—“is just to make the trip hell.”**

“Of course it is,” Pelor said, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Because it wouldn’t be fun otherwise.”

Renault didn’t even bother to look at him. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”

Pelor stuck his tongue out at the mercenary.

**“Why?”**

**Ansel hooked the buckets into the yoke across her shoulders. “Because if you can run three miles across the dunes of the Red Desert, then three miles back, you can do almost anything.”**

“Well, I’ll give her that,” Celaena admitted. “I did improve.”

Rowan waved a hand. “You were plenty good before, I’m sure, and the Silent Assassins have nothing on you.”

The compliment buzzed weirdly in Celaena’s ears. She didn’t know what to do other than mutter a choked “Thanks.”

**“Run?” Celaena’s throat dried up at the thought of it…**

**“Don’t tell me the infamous Celaena Sardothien can’t run three miles!”**

“Not in that kind of heat,” she grumbled under her breath.

**… Ansel began jogging, leaving the shade of the date trees overhead, kicking up a wave of red sand behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. “If you walk, it’ll take all day! And then you’ll certainly never impress anyone!” Ansel pulled her scarf over her nose and mouth and took off at a gallop.**

Celaena muttered some unsavoury curses under her breath directed at Ansel that had Nehemia hiding a smile behind her hand.

**Taking a deep breath, cursing Arobynn to Hell,**

“Yes, let’s curse him to Hell!” Pelor agreed excitedly. 

Honestly, the way the potions master had taken to hating on her master so quickly bewildered and slightly concerned Celaena. She wondered if he remembered that this wasn’t just a story, that this was actually her life, and Arobynn was not some fictitious character he could choose to disobey. Arobynn ran Rifthold’s underworld, and soon enough every assassin came into contact with him one way or another, and he would not tolerate challenges of any kind against him.

**Celaena hooked the buckets onto the yoke and ran.**

**If it had been three flat miles, even three miles up grassy knolls, she might have made it. But the dunes were enormous and unwieldy, and Celaena made it one measly mile before she had to slow to a walk, her lungs near to combusting.**

She wrapped herself in the blanket again, trying to hide from her past self’s embarrassing actions.

**She ran when she could and walked when she couldn’t, but the sun rose higher and higher, toward that dangerous noontime peak. Up one hill, down the other. One foot in front of the next. Bright flashes flitted across her vision, and her head pounded.**

**The red sand shimmered, and she draped her arms over the yoke. Her lips became filmy, cracking in places, and her tongue turned leaden in her mouth.**

**Each step made her head throb, and the sun rose higher and higher …**

“I was born in a northern kingdom,” Celaena snapped in response to the looks on Cain and Grave’s faces. “And Adarlan doesn’t exactly see its share of heatwaves.”

**_One more dune. Just one more dune_ ** **.**

**But many more dunes later, she was still trudging along, following the smattering of footprints in the sand. Had she somehow tracked the** **_wrong_ ** **group? Even as she thought it, assassins appeared atop the dune before her, already running back to the fortress, their buckets heavy with water.**

Rowan winced internally. It would have been a blow to Aelin’s pride, he knew, and still was, judging by the state of Celaena’s face.

**She kept her head high as they passed and didn’t look any of them in the face.**

**Most of them didn’t bother looking at her, though a few spared her a mortifyingly pitying glance.**

Celaena scowled at the floor.

**Their clothes were sodden.**

**She crested a dune so steep she had to use one hand to brace herself, and just when she was about to sink to her knees atop it, she heard splashing.**

**A small oasis, mostly a ring of trees and a giant pool fed by a shimmering stream, was barely an eighth of a mile away.**

Pelor breathed out a sigh of relief. That had sounded like an awful ordeal. If he had to do that, he was never joining the Silent Assassins if he made it out of here. Nope, not ever.

**She was Adarlan’s Assassin—at least she’d** **_made_ ** **it here.**

Grave muttered something under his breath to Renault that Celaena was sure was a slight against her, but she couldn’t bring herself to rise to the challenge.

She beat Cain and she could beat Grave. She’d show them exactly why she was the continent’s most feared assassin.

**In the shallows of the pool, many disciples splashed or bathed or sat, cooling themselves. No one spoke—and hardly anyone gestured. Another of the absolutely silent places, then. She spotted Ansel with her feet in the water, tossing dates into her mouth. None of the others paid Celaena any heed. And for once, she was glad. Perhaps she should have found a way to defy Arobynn’s order and come here under an alias.**

“No,” Rowan said immediately. “You made the right choice. It helped us later on in my timeline.”

He refused to elaborate despite the questioning glances he received.

**Ansel waved her over. If she gave her one look that hinted at her being so slow ...**

**But Ansel merely held up a date, offering it to her.**

**Celaena, trying to control her panting, didn’t bother taking the date as she strode into the cool water until she was completely submerged.**

“Time skip.”

Cain wasn’t even bothering to hid his laughter now.

**Celaena drank an entire bucket before she was even halfway back to the fortress, and by the time she reached the sandstone complex and its glorious shade, she’d consumed all of the second.**

Telmor grimaced. “At least you were hydrated,” he said weakly.

**At dinner, Ansel didn’t mention that it’d taken Celaena a long, long while to return. Celaena had had to wait in the shade of the palms until later in the afternoon to leave—and wound up walking the whole way back. She’d reached the fortress near dusk. A whole day spent “running.”**

Dorian swallowed a glass-full of his own water. From what he understood, the Red Desert was a hellish, unforgiving place that had even the most brutal of men begging for mercy. It dried his mouth out even thinking about the scorching heat.

**“Don’t look so glum,” Ansel whispered, taking a forkful of those delightful spiced grains. She was wearing her armor again. “You know what happened my first day out there?”**

**Some of the assassins seated at the long table gave knowing grins.**

**Ansel swallowed and braced her arms on the table. ...“My first run, I collapsed.**

Chaol winced. He’d seen far too many soft, naive boys collapse in the midst of their first training sessions. Those were usually the ones that couldn’t handle the lifestyle of the guards, and often wound up not making the cut.

**Mile two. Completely unconscious. Ilias found me on his way back and carried me here. In his arms and everything.” Ilias’s eyes met with Celaena’s, and he smiled at her. “If I hadn’t been about to die, I would have been swooning,” Ansel finished…**

Rowan grinned. Well, the debate about who was swooning over whom was still in question, but he’d have to remind Aelin of this conversation when he got back. She would never let Ansel live it down.

The smile dimmed.  _ If _ he got back.

**… She kept an eye on the Master, who dined at the center of the room, safely ensconced within rows of his deadly assassins. He sat at a table of acolytes, whose eyes were so wide that Celaena could only assume his presence at their table was an unexpected surprise.**

Much like the looks Pelor had given Prince Dorian the first time he’d spoken to him during the readings, Telmor noted with a small smile.

**She waited and waited for him to stand, and when he did, Celaena made her best attempt to look casual as she, too, stood and bid everyone good night. As she turned away, she noticed that Mikhail took Ansel’s hand and held it in the shadows beneath the table.**

Celaena scowled. To think that Mikhail had loved her and had been among the first Ansel had killed… It hurt more than she wanted to admit. How much of her brief friendship with Ansel had been nothing more than a game to her, Celaena’s status as Adarlan’s Assassin nothing more than a tool Ansel sought to use to further her own career?

**The Master was just leaving the hall when she caught up to him. With everyone still eating, the torch-lit halls were empty. She took a loud step, unsure if he’d appreciate if she tried being mute, and how, exactly, to address him.**

**The Master paused, his white clothes rustling around him. He offered her a little smile. …**

**Ansel had told her to try to impress him—to make him think she** **_wanted_ ** **to be here. Perhaps silence would work. But how to communicate what needed to be said? She gave him her best smile, even though her heart raced, and began making a series of motions,**

Rowan snorted.

**mostly just her best impression of running with the yoke, and a lot of shaking her head and frowning that she hoped he’d take to mean “I came here to train with** **_you_ ** **, not with the others.”**

Gods, he could imagine Aelin doing that. He could imagine even better how abysmally she’d failed. He loved her, but charades were not her strong suit.

**The Master nodded, as if he already knew. Celaena swallowed, her mouth still tasting of those spices they used to season their meat. She gestured between the two of them several times, taking a step closer to indicate her wanting to work** **_only_ ** **with him. She might have been more aggressive with her motions, might have really let her temper and exhaustion get the better of her, but ... that confounded letter!**

**The Master shook his head.**

Pelor blew out a breath in frustration.

**Celaena ground her teeth, and tried the gesturing between the two of them again.**

**He shook his head once more, and bobbed his hands in the air, as if he were telling her to slow down—to wait. To wait for him to train her.**

**She reflected the gesture, raising an eyebrow as if to say, “Wait for you?” He nodded. How on earth to ask him “Until when?” She exposed her palms, beseeching, doing her best to look confused. Still, she couldn’t keep the irritation from her face. She was only here for a month. How long would she have to wait?**

“Patience, Elentyia,” Nehemia murmured, rubbing a thumb along the back of her hand. “Your destiny will be realized in time.”

Something about the way she said that unsettled Celaena, as though she was talking about more than just the Master’s seal of approval.

**The Master understood her well enough. He shrugged, an infuriatingly casual gesture, and Celaena clenched her jaw. ... She took a step toward him, to beg, to shout, to do whatever her body seized up to do, but someone grabbed her arm.**

**She whirled, already reaching for her daggers, but found herself looking into Ilias’s sea-green eyes.**

**… So perhaps Ilias hadn’t paid attention to her out of admiration, but because he didn’t trust her. ... Had their positions been reversed—had** **_he_ ** **been visiting Rifthold— she wouldn’t have dared leave him alone with Arobynn.**

“You should leave him alone with Arobynn,” Pelor said, “I wonder what would happen.”

“Arobynn would win,” Celaena said with a tight scowl. To think anything else was unacceptable.

**“I have no plans to hurt him,” she said softly. But Ilias gave her a half smile, his brows rising as if to ask if she could blame him for being protective of his father.**

**… His smile spread a bit more as he extended his hand toward her. A greeting.**

**“Yes,” she said, fighting her own smile. “I don’t suppose we’ve been properly introduced.”**

“I mean, everyone knows who you are, and you already know who he is,” Renault shrugged. “I’d say that’s an introduction.”

**He nodded, and put his other hand on his heart. Scars peppered his hand— small, slender scars that suggested years of training with blades.**

The same scars that littered Celaena’s hands and the hands of most around the table. Hands meant for violence and nothing else.

**“You’re Ilias, and I’m Celaena.” She put a hand on her own chest. Then she took his extended hand and shook it. “It’s nice to meet you.”**

**His eyes were vivid in the torchlight, his hand firm and warm around hers. She let go of his fingers. The son of the Mute Master and the protégée of the King of the Assassins. If there was anyone here who was at all similar to her, she realized, it was Ilias. Rifthold might be her realm, but this was his.**

They were heirs in their own rights, Rowan realized, and yet he doubted either truly understood the gravity of their positions yet. That would come with the war, he was sure.

**And from the easy way he carried himself, from the way she’d seen his companions gazing at him with admiration and respect, she could tell that he was utterly at home here —as if this place had been made for him, and he never needed to question his spot in it. A strange sort of envy wended its way through her heart.**

The same sort of pangs resonated in her chest. What would it have been like if she’d grown up like Ilias, with no thought as to her role in the greater world, without any anxiety surrounding maintaining her position because it would be  _ hers _ and hers alone, with expectations and a future set in stone, sure and steady as a hearth burning in defiance of the wind that howled outside.

**Ilias suddenly began making a series of motions with his long, tan fingers, but Celaena laughed softly. “I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”**

Pelor laughed quietly. “I think you need an interpreter.”

Celaena cracked a tired smile. “I guess I do.”

**Ilias looked skyward and sighed through his nose. Throwing his hands in the air in mock defeat, he merely patted her on the shoulder before passing by— following his father, who had disappeared down the hall.**

**Though she walked back toward her room—in the other direction—she didn’t once believe that the son of the Mute Master wasn’t still watching her, making sure she wasn’t going to follow his father.**

“I mean, to be fair,” Renault said, crossing his arms. “I still don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, and I’ve been living in this castle with you for months.”

Celaena just shrugged. “That’s a wise choice.”

**_Not that you have anything to worry about_ ** **, she wanted to shout over her shoulder. She couldn’t run six measly miles in the desert.**

“Your worth is not based on how far you can run, only that you try to get farther every day,” Nehemia whispered, but Celanea frowned.

“But it is. Everything I am,  _ who _ I am, is based on Adarlan’s Assassin. If I don’t have that, then what do I?”

Rowan frowned and was about to say something when Nehemia spoke first. “I became friends with Elentyia, not Adarlan’s Assassin. Your title does not matter, you will always have a friend in me.”

Emotion rose in Celaena’s throat. “Thank you,” she whispered back, squeezing Nehemia’s hand.

**As she walked back to her room, Celaena had a horrible feeling that here, being Adarlan’s Assassin might not count for much.**

Telmor shrugged. “Your reputation precedes you, and that will always mean something. Whether it is what you want or not remains to be seen.”

**Later that night, when she and Ansel were both in their beds, Ansel whispered into the darkness: “Tomorrow will be better. It might be only a foot more than today, but it will be a foot longer that you can run.”**

**That was easy enough for Ansel to say.** **_She_ ** **didn’t have a reputation to uphold —a reputation that might be crumbling around her. Celaena stared at the ceiling, suddenly homesick, strangely wishing Sam was with her. At least if she were to fail, she’d fail with him.**

And yet, when it had mattered most, they’d failed apart from each other, Sam in a trance of Gloriella under Jayne and Farran’s sadism, and her in the mines, where she came dangerously close to breaking in the darkness of the tunnels carved by her own hand.

Perhaps she did break down there, and the splinters of herself were only barely being held together. It felt like that, sometimes, and Celaena only wondered how many more days of reading it would take for her to shatter irreparably.

**“So,” Celaena said suddenly, needing to get her mind off everything— especially Sam. “You and Mikhail ...”**

**Ansel groaned. “It’s that obvious? Though I suppose we don’t really make that much of an effort to hide it. Well,** **_I_ ** **try, but he doesn’t. He** **_was_ ** **rather irritated when he found out I suddenly had a roommate.”**

Pelor did a spit-take from his glass, snorting loudly and giggling through the sudden hiccups that had overtaken him.

**“How long have you been seeing him?”**

**Ansel was silent for a long moment before answering. “Since I was fifteen.” Fifteen! Mikhail was in his midtwenties, so even if this had started almost three years ago, he still would have been far older than Ansel…**

Chaol’s face twisted in disgust. “That can’t be legal, even in the desert.”

“I don’t think anyone wants to get on the wrong side of a hormonal fourteen-year-old girl with blades in her hand and years of weapons training,” Celaena said with a shrug, but the idea still obviously unsettled her.

**“Girls in the Flatlands are married as early as fourteen,” Ansel said.**

Dorian’s stomach lurched. To think that there was a possibility that he could one day be betrothed to a  _ child, _ that it was allowed in some places… Gods, that was barely older than his little brother.

**Celaena choked. The idea of being anyone’s** **_wife_ ** **at fourteen, let alone a mother soon after ...**

Disgust and revulsion were evident on the faces of all around the table. Even Grave was silent, for once, glaring at the book with a curled lip.

**When Celaena didn’t say anything else, Ansel drifted into sleep. With nothing else to distract her, Celaena eventually returned to thinking about Sam. Even weeks later, she had no idea how she’d somehow gotten attached to him, what he’d been shouting when Arobynn beat her, and why Arobynn had thought he’d need three seasoned assassins to restrain him that day.**

Gods, this book was taking a toll on her emotions, but she was distracted by Nehemia’s sly smile.

“You really didn’t know, Elentyia?” she teased.

Celaena groaned good-naturedly. “Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry if the romance seems stilted or weird in this. I'm just your average aroace trying to write about something she's never experienced and doesn't fully understand. Even still, I love Rowaelin and I'm trying my best


	22. let slip the dogs of war

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... meant to have this up for Christmas, but got distracted by said holiday and the gaming PC my sister and I now share. So Merry late Christmas and/or Happy Kwanzaa to those who celebrate, and HAPPY NEW YEAR! 2020's over in a matter of hours, guys! (Thank god...)
> 
> It's been a hell of a year, but we're all still here and that is our greatest achievement so far, so give yourself a pat on your back. You've survived the worst life has to throw at you and I know we can do it again in 2021!

Rolling his eyes at the two women sitting near him, Nox turned and snatched the book from Cain’s hands, ignoring the way Cain’s face reddened and a vein pulsed in his forehead.

“Chapter four,” he said, and flipped through the pages. “It looks like this one is a short one.”

**… She did manage to find** **_some_ ** **time late in the afternoon to attend drills with Ansel. The only guidance she received there was from a few older-looking assassins who positioned her hands and feet, tapped her stomach, and slapped her spine into the correct posture.**

Dorian winced behind his hand. That would be a blow to Celaena’s pride, he knew.

**… Like the assassins in Adarlan, the Silent Assassins weren’t known for any skill in particular—save the uncannily quiet way they moved.**

“Oh,  _ gee,” _ Renault drawled. “I  _ never _ would have guessed.”

Nox rolled his eyes and shushed him. “Can I continue now? Thanks.”

**Their weapons were mostly the same, though their bows and blades were slightly different in length and shape. But just watching them—it seemed that there was a good deal less ...** **_viciousness_ ** **here.**

Rowan’s frown deepened.

**Arobynn encouraged cutthroat behavior.**

“Why?” Nehemia asked quietly.

Celaena licked her dry lips and wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Because it’s an easy way to weed out dissent in the ranks and prevent failure. If your life's on the line, you’re much more likely to resort to measures you wouldn’t have taken otherwise. An assassin without morals who would do whatever it took to complete the mission and stay alive is much more dangerous.”

_ Unlike Pelor,  _ her mind supplied. But she couldn’t fault the boy. If anything, he reminded her that there was still innocence in the world, that not everyone had been broken beneath Adarlan’s reign.

**Even when they were children, he’d set her and Sam against each other, use their victories and failures against them.**

A muscle in Telmor’s jaw jumped, like he didn’t agree with Arobynn’s parenting methods.

**He’d made her see everyone but Arobynn and Ben as a potential enemy. As allies, yes, but also as foes to be closely watched.**

“Because power corrupts,” Celaena explained. “And there might have come a day when I attempted a coup.”

“Would you have?” Nox asked, lowering the book and marking the page with a finger.

Celaena considered it. “I… don’t know,” she said slowly. “I would have - not before this, at least. I was going to be free and Sam and I were going to leave, but if he hadn’t let us - if it had come down to it, then yes, probably.”

“Would you have succeeded?” Pelor’s eyes were sparkling.

“No.” Celaena snapped immediately. “Arobynn Hammel is the King of Assassins for a reason.”

_ Because - because to think anything else would be treason. And she’d have to face a truth that could just break her. _

_ But you could win, _ some treacherous part of her whispered, deep within a cobwebbed abyss. 

**Weakness was never to be shown at any cost. Brutality was rewarded…**

“So you were lonely,” Telmor summed up.

Celaena crossed her arms. “I was fine,” she snapped. “I didn’t need anyone else.”

The moon was her friend and the darkness her most trusted companion. Adarlan’s Assassin needed nothing more than the cover of night and a silent blade, and anything else was selfish.

And yet… Nehemia’s skin pressed warmly against her shoulder beneath the blanket, and it was a comforting weight unlike anything she’d ever known, except for maybe with Ae -

_ No. _

She wasn’t going to think of him.

Across the table, Telmor looked like he didn’t believe her, but he just sighed and let it go.

**But the Silent Assassins ... Though they, too, might be killers, they looked to one another for learning. Embraced collective wisdom. Older warriors smiled as they taught the acolytes; seasoned assassins swapped techniques. And while they were all competitors, it appeared that an invisible link bound them together. …**

“In other words, they actually have morals,” Cain sneered.

Celaena didn’t even figure that worthy of a response. She just rolled her eyes, much to his chagrin.

**Still, even as they corrected her posture and showed her new ways to control her breathing, she tried her best not to snarl at them.**

“I knew things you never will and I know even more now,” Celaena snapped at Grave’s smirk. “They were inferior to me.”

Nehemia put a hand on her friend’s to calm her down. “Peace, Elentyia,” she whispered. “There is no shame in receiving help from others.”

Celaena scowled and yanked her hand away.

**She knew plenty—she wasn’t Adarlan’s Assassin for nothing. But she needed that letter of good behavior as proof of her training. … She’d get that letter. Even if she had to hold a dagger to his throat while he wrote it.**

Rowan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was getting a headache - and he  _ never _ got headaches.

**The attack by Lord Berick happened on her fifth night.**

“Of course it did.” Gods, his headache was growing with every word the thief read.

The Captain just looked at him in confusion.

“Celaena causes trouble everywhere she goes,” Rowan explained, “Though she would claim otherwise.”

Celaena just squawked in indignation.

**There was no moon, and Celaena had no idea how the Silent Assassins spotted the thirty or so soldiers creeping across the dark dunes.**

“Likely with  _ magic,” _ Grave mock-whispered, wiggling his fingers. 

Renault rolled his eyes. “Can it, Grave. No one cares.”

**… Hopefully, this would turn out to be another opportunity to prove herself. With just over three weeks left, she was running out of options.**

“There’s still time,” Nehemia said gently.

“I know,” Celaena whispered back, squeezing her hand before dropping it.

**But the Master wasn’t at the battlements. And neither were many of the assassins. She heard a woman question another, asking how Berick’s men had known that a good number of the assassins would be away that night, busy escorting some foreign dignitaries back to the nearest port. It was too convenient to be coincidental.**

Telmor frowned and scratched at the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin. “So they have a spy,” he surmised.

“Yeah,” Celaena spat bitterly, “And I should have shot at twenty.”

Dorian sighed. “I know both you and Prince Rowan understand what you mean, but can you  _ please  _ stop saying that without giving us an explanation? The rest of us weren’t there.”

“I was supposed to shoot Ansel after twenty minutes,” Celaena scowled. “But I was  _ merciful _ and gave her twenty-one.”

She hissed the word like it burned.

“Uh-huh,” Pelor said slowly. “But why?”

Next to him, Renault sighed and mentally counted to ten. “Because, boy, Celaena’s saying that Ansel’s the traitor.”

Pelor made a sound of understanding that quickly turned to protest. “But she was your friend!”

Rage roiled in her gut and she quickly stamped down on the simmering in her blood. “No, she wasn’t.”

Seated on her right, Celaena saw Rowan’s frown deepen out of the corner of her eyes.

**Crouched atop the parapet, an arrow nocked into her bow, Celaena peered through one of the crenels in the wall. Ansel, squatting beside her, also twisted to look. ...**

**“Get your arrow ready,” Ansel murmured, dipping her cloth-covered arrow tip into the small bowl of oil between them. “When Ilias gives the signal, light it on the torch as fast as you can and fire. Aim for the ridge in the sand just below the soldiers.”**

“Wait, why the ridge?” Nox paused and asked.

Before she could answer, Chaol nodded in understanding. “They’re going to like something on fire, likely oil or alcohol.”

Celaena smirked. “Got it in one, Captain.”

**Celaena glanced into the darkness beyond the wall. Rather than give themselves away by extinguishing the lights of the fortress, the defenders had kept them on—which made focusing in the dark nearly impossible. But she could still make out the shapes against the starlit sky—thirty men on their stomachs, poised to do whatever they had planned. …**

“Now that I think about it,” Celaena mused aloud. “Even without most of the assassins gone, thirty men would have been no match for us. I probably could have taken at least ten of them myself, if not more, and I  _ know _ Ilias could do the same.”

Grave sneered. “Getting cocky,  _ girl?” _

“No,” she flashed a smile full of feral intent. “Just realistic.”

**“We’re not going to kill them?” Celaena whispered back. She weighed the weapon in her hands. The bow of the Silent Assassins was different—shorter, thicker, harder to bend.**

“But better for concealment,” Telmor explained. “And the recoil is likely to be more powerful.”

Celaena suddenly remembered that this man had spent a long time as a soldier.  _ Of course _ he would know his way around weapons.

**Ansel shook her head, watching Ilias down the line. “No, though I wish we could.” Celaena didn’t particularly care for the casual way she said it, but Ansel went on. “We don’t want to start an all-out battle with Lord Berick. We just need to scare them off. Mikhail and Ilias rigged that ridge last week; the line in the sand is a rope soaking in a trough of oil.”**

Dorian shared a look with Chaol. It was a barbaric tactic, to set whole swaths of an invading force on fire, but it was a possibility they had to consider if the events that happened in Rowan’s timeline came to pass in theirs.

**Celaena was beginning to see where this was going. She dipped her arrow into the dish of oil, drenching the cloth around it thoroughly. “That’s going to be a long wall of fire,” she said, following the course of the ridge.**

**“You have no idea. It stretches around the whole fortress.” …**

Pelor let out a low whistle. “That must have been a sight to behold.”

“It was,” Celaena agreed, a spark in her eyes that Rowan only recognized as her muted flame remembering and reaching for its kin. “It really was.”

**… Like a wave of shooting stars, their flaming arrows went up, up, up, then dropped. ...**

**Light burst all around them, and the roar of the wall of flame drowned out the hollering of Lord Berick’s men. Black arrows rained from the sky, ricocheting off the stones of the battlements. Two or three assassins grunted, swallowing their screams, but Celaena kept her head low, holding her breath until the last of the enemy’s arrows had fallen.**

Telmor winced slightly. That was no small injury to walk off, especially if the arrowheads were heated from the fire they passed through.

**When there was nothing but the muffled moaning of the injured assassins and the crackling of the wall of fire, Celaena dared to look at Ansel. The girl’s eyes were bright. “Well,” Ansel breathed, “wasn’t** **_that_ ** **fun?”**

“Dear gods,” Chaol breathed quietly. “There’s two of them.”

**Celaena grinned, her heart racing. “Yes.” Pivoting, she spied Lord Berick’s men fleeing back across the dunes. “Yes, it was.”**

Rowan grimaced in mutual understanding. “How much would you hate me, Captain, if I said it only gets worse?”

Chaol groaned and rubbed his temples, muttering something about  _ blood pressure _ and  _ heart attacks _ under his breath.

**Near dawn, when Celaena and Ansel were back in their room, a soft knock sounded.**

“Did you sleep at all?” Telmor frowned.

Celaena waved it off. “We got enough.”

Nehemia shuffled closer to Celaena under the blanket engulfing them. “Please, promise me you’ll take care of yourself in the future.”

Looking in the princess’ eyes, all thoughts of empty promises or denial fled Celaena’s mind. “When the job allows it,” she finally choked out. “I give you my word.”

Grave, of course, took that time to mutter under his breath about the validity of her word, but a glance from Dorian shut him up with a scowl.

**Ansel was instantly on her feet, and opened the door only wide enough for Celaena to spy Mikhail on the other side. He handed Ansel a sealed scroll. “You’re to go to Xandria today and give him this.” Celaena saw Ansel’s shoulders tense. “Master’s orders,” he added.**

“That’s the city the Lord controls, right?” Pelor asked.

Renault nodded sharply in return. “Yeah. I have a feeling Ansel’s not just going on behalf of her Master, though.”

**She couldn’t see Ansel’s face as she nodded, but Celaena could have sworn Mikhail brushed her cheek before he turned away.**

Celaena scowled at the table.

**Ansel let out a long breath and shut the door. In the growing light of predawn, Celaena saw Ansel wipe the sleep from her eyes. “Care to join me?”**

**Celaena hoisted herself up onto her elbows. “Isn’t that two days from here?”**

**“Yes. Two days through the desert, with only yours truly to keep you company.**

Nox hissed in sympathy as he continued down the page.

**Unless you’d rather stay here, running every day and waiting like a dog for the Master to notice you. In fact, coming with me might help get him to consider training you. He’d certainly see your dedication to keeping us safe.”**

“Oh, she’s good,” Pelor sighed. 

“Well, I didn’t want to do either, but going with Ansel was more logical.”

**Ansel wriggled her eyebrows at Celaena, who rolled her eyes.**

**It was actually sound reasoning. What better way to prove her dedication than to sacrifice four days of her precious time in order to help the Silent Assassins? It was risky, yes, but ... it might be bold enough to catch his attention.**

“What would you have done if it didn’t?” Renault crossed his arms.

Celaena scowled. “It didn’t get to that.”

“But -”

“Be  _ quiet, _ Pelor!”

**“And what will we be doing in Xandria?”**

Nehemia hummed. “I am inclined to believe that it is nothing good.”

**“That’s for you to find out.”**

**From the mischief twinkling in Ansel’s red-brown eyes, Celaena could only wonder what might await them.**

“I mean, we’ll find out in the next chapter, probably,” Nox said, marking the page with the embroidered bookmark sitting on the silver platter on the table. “But someone has to read for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bring it on, 2021! We've hit rock bottom, but we've got shovels and we're ready to dig!


	23. more distant and solemn than a fading star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really related to this, but I just have to share some of the best out of context quotes from my classics class because they are hilarious and had me cackling so much I couldn't take notes. Literally, I have to go back and rewatch the lecture because I missed half of it because I was laughing so hard I couldn't keep my pencil steady. 
> 
> "There's just two guys in their pyjamas and he doesn't know which one is the king but he has to kill one of them."
> 
> "Could you imagine being so hardcore you burn off your hand and you're nicknamed fucking leftie?!?"
> 
> "You know about the Justice League? Well, this is the Latin League. So, it's a battle between Rome and the discount Justice League."
> 
> I've only had this class for two weeks and it's become so chaotic??? Like??? I love it???
> 
> Anyways, this chapter is extra long, so it took a while to write and I really wrote it in three segments, so I hope it doesn't seem too disjointed.

Rowan reached a hand across the table. “I’ll read.”

Wordlessly, Nox slid the book over to him. Carefully, Rowan opened the book and placed the bookmark behind the book, clearing his throat before he said, “Chapter five.”

**Celaena lay on her cloak, trying to imagine that the sand was her down mattress in Rifthold,**

“How did that work out for ya?” Grave smirked. 

His smile disappeared when Celaena didn’t even deign to give it a response.

**and that she wasn’t completely exposed to the elements in the middle of the desert. The last thing she needed was to wake up with a scorpion in her hair. Or worse.**

Pelor hissed between his teeth. “I hope you have antivenom handy. Scorpion stings can be deadly.”

He got incredulous looks from everyone around the table. “How do you know that?” Renault asked with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you’d never been to the Red Desert.”

“I haven’t,” Pelor said, twiddling his thumbs. “But my master used to import their venom as a key component in a few of the toxins we made, and one time another apprentice spilled some on their open wound and…” he shrugged. “I just figured the Silent Assassins, living in a desert, would have figured out a way to make it less deadly.”

Renault grimaced, but seemed at a loss for what to say.

After a moment, Rowan continued, glancing up periodically at those sitting around the table.

**...When Celaena complained about** **_that_ ** **, Ansel just told her that she should be grateful it wasn’t sandstorm season.**

**“I’ve got sand in every crevice of my body,” Celaena muttered, squirming as she felt it grind against her skin...**

**“Are you** **_sure_ ** **you’re Celaena Sardothien? Because I don’t think she’d actually be this fussy.**

Rowan snorted as he read that sentence, much to the chagrin of Celaena, who stuck her tongue out at him.

**I bet she’s used to roughing it.”**

**“I’m plenty used to roughing it,” Celaena said, her words sucked into the dunes rising around them.**

“Yeah, “ Celaena grumbled. “But it usually doesn’t involve  _ sand.” _

Nehemia sighed teasingly. “Then apparently I can’t bring you to Banjali.”

Celaena perked up. “Wait, I didn’t say that-”

“I joke,” Nehemia said with a small smile. “You are welcome whether or not you like sand.”

**“That doesn’t mean I have to** **_enjoy_ ** **it. I suppose that someone from the Western Wastes would find this luxurious.”**

“What do the Wastes actually look like?” Telmor asked. “Has anyone here ever been?”

Those around the table exchanged curious glances and shrugs.

“I haven’t,” Pelor said. 

“We know,” Renault sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Even we could have guessed that,” Grave said dryly.

Cain remained quiet through his ally’s taunting, his narrow gaze focused on Celaena. His split lip turned down into a scowl that broke the scabs, letting blood bead along his mouth.

**… Celaena quit her taunting as curiosity seized her. “Are your lands as cursed as they claim?”**

**“Well, the Flatlands used to be part of the Witch Kingdom.**

Dorian grimaced at the reminder. 

**And yes, I suppose you could say they’re somewhat cursed.”**

_ More than  _ somewhat _ cursed, _ Rowan knew. He was too young to have seen the kingdom’s fall personally, but Lorcan had told him all about the bloodbath that had occurred, and he knew about the witch hunts in the centuries that followed.

**Ansel sighed loudly. “When the Crochan Queens ruled five hundred years ago, it was very beautiful.**

“They’re witches,” Renault scoffed. “It can’t be beautiful.”

A frown grew on Telmor’s face as he nodded in agreement, a pained look in his eyes. 

Clearly, Rowan thought, the man had experience with the Ironteeth. Even he would have to agree that Manon and the Thirteen were bloodthirsty and ruthless and he  _ really _ hated Dorian’s lack of self-preservation instincts, but he couldn’t deny that there was more to them. Five years ago, he never would have said that he would be comrades-in-arms with a clan of witches, much less tentative friends with their queen, but times of war changed people, he supposed.

**At least, the ruins all over the place seem like they would have been beautiful. But then the three Ironteeth Clans destroyed it all when they overthrew the Crochan Dynasty.”**

“What’s the difference?” Pelor asked.

“Aside from the fact that most of the Crochans are dead,” Rowan rumbled. “There are several key physical differences that the next paragraph  _ literally _ explains.”

Pelor ducked his head sheepishly, but Celaena’s focus narrowed in on Rowan’s phrasing. “Most of them? They’re all dead, aren’t they?”

“In a way,” Rowan conceded. “They’ve pretty much been hunted into extinction,” he glanced at Celaena, then back to the book. “You are - or will be - friends with the last Chrochan Queen.”

_ “What?” _ Celaena spluttered, sitting up straight in her seat. “I’m friends with a - what the - how does this -  _ huh?” _

The same sentiment was shared around the table, apparently. Various noises of protests and shock were heard, and the guards subtly tightened their grips on their weapons.

A smile twitched at the corners of Rowan’s mouth. “It’s a… recent development, and it would be easier to explain if we let the books do it. I’m not entirely sure of the whole story myself.”

He glanced at Dorian, but the man was just sitting on his throne with a slack expression on his face. Deciding it would be better just to let everyone absorb that on their own, Rowan raised the book once again and continued.

**Ansel let out a low hiss. “Some witches, like the Crochans, were gifted with ethereal beauty. But the Ironteeth Clans have iron teeth, sharp as a fish’s. Actually, their iron fingernails are more dangerous; those can gut you in one swipe.”**

Pelor whimpered, wide eyes directed at the book in Rowan’s hands. Telmor put a hand on his shoulder.

**...“But when the Ironteeth Clans destroyed the kingdom, they say the last Crochan Queen cast a spell that turned the land against any that flew under the banners of the Ironteeth—so that no crops would grow, the animals withered up and died, and the waters turned muddy. It’s not like that now, though. The land has been fertile ever since the Ironteeth Clans journeyed east ... toward your lands.”**

“So they’ve just kept the name out of tradition,” Dorian surmised at the same time as shouts exploded through the room.

“The witches are here?” Pelor yelped. 

“The hell?!” Grave yelled, his voice jumping up an octave. “There’s fucking  _ witches _ here?” 

“Calm down,” Rowan said. He didn’t raise his voice but the deep baritone was commanding nonetheless, like the crackling sound of ice breaking underfoot. “The Ironteeth are very particular about the men they prey on. I highly doubt you’d even register on their radar.”

Grave nodded before the exact meaning of Rowan’s words hit him and he spluttered in protest.

**“So ... so have** **_you_ ** **ever seen one of the witches?”**

Everyone quieted, waiting for the response, while Celaena hid a wince.

**Ansel was quiet for a moment before she said, “Yes. … When I was eight and my sister was eleven, she and I and Maddy, one of her friends, snuck out of Briarcliff Hall. A few miles away, there was a giant tor with a lone watchtower on top. The upper bits were all ruined because of the witch-wars, but the rest of it was still intact. See, there was this archway that went through the bottom of the watchtower—so you could see through it to the other side of the hill. And one of the stable boys told my sister that if you looked through the archway on the night of the summer solstice, then you might see into another world.”**

Telmor’s heart sank. He had a feeling he knew what happened.

**The hair on Celaena’s neck stood. “So you went inside?”**

**“No,” Ansel said. “I got near the top of the tor and became so terrified that I wouldn’t set foot on it. I hid behind a rock, and my sister and Maddy left me there while they went the rest of the way. I can’t remember how long I waited, but then I heard screaming.**

Celaena’s whole body shook with a chill that ran down her spine. Gods, the idea that she could be  _ friends _ with one of those heartless monsters was… well, it confirmed her worst suspicions about herself. Monsters looked out for one another, after all.

**“My sister came running. She just grabbed my arm and we ran.**

Nehemia wrapped an arm around her friend, who had gone completely still. It didn’t even seem as thought Celaena was listening to the book at all, but where she was, Nehemia didn’t know. 

She could only hope that she was enough to draw her friend back to the present.

**It didn’t come out at first, but when we got to my father’s hall, she told them what had happened. … But an old woman with metal teeth was standing in the shadows, and she grabbed Maddy and dragged her into the stairwell.”**

Pelor whimpered and leaned into Telmor’s touch. Nox swallowed roughly, and even Chaol’s face had gone several shades paler. 

A muscle in Rowan’s jaw jumped. On one hand, Manon was his ally, perhaps even his friend - on the other hand… If she found this behaviour acceptable and allowed the witches under her jurisdiction to continue it, he would ensure her reign was a short one.

**Celaena choked on a breath.**

**“Maddy began screaming, and my sister ran. And when she told my father and his men, they raced for the tor. They arrived at dawn, but there was no trace of Maddy, or the old woman.”**

“Oh gods,” Nox whispered. 

Celaena just stared at the wall with distant eyes.

**“Gone?” Celaena whispered.**

**“They found one thing,” Ansel said softly. “They climbed the tower, and on one of the landings, they found the bones of a child. White as ivory and picked clean.”**

Pelor looked like he was going to be sick again, and Telmor wordlessly handed him another ginger chew.

**“Gods above,” Celaena said. … “Well, now I certainly won’t be able to sleep tonight.”**

**Ansel laughed. “Don’t worry,” she said, nestling down on her cloak. “I’ll tell you a valuable secret: the only way to kill a witch is to cut off her head.**

Chaol mentally filed that thought away. He had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to need it, particularly if Celaena’s usual methods of causing trouble were involved.

**Besides, I don’t think an Ironteeth witch stands much of a chance against us.”**

Nehemia tightened her grip around Celaena and put on a brave smile. “They would fall if faced with you,” she whispered in Eyllwe. 

Celaena turned in the direction of her voice, her movements almost mechanical. The haunted look was still there, but it was slowly fading.

Sneaking a glance at the two of them, Rowan allowed himself a moment to gauge Celaena’s reactions before returning to the book. He didn’t want to set off another incident like the one on the balcony, but he feared what relieving all these events would do to her in the long term.

**... “They might be vicious, but they’re not invincible. And if I had an army of my own ...**

And she’d gotten that army, Rowan knew, and they’d been a force to be reckoned with, one that helped turn the tide of the war.

**“You know, these assassins have been here for ages, but what do they** **_do?_ **

“So she’s angry with the Silent Assassins.” Renault said, crossing his arms. The wariness hadn’t faded from his eyes. They were still flickering between Celaena and the book, the muscles in his face tightening. “Then why the hell doesn’t she leave and raise an army? If you want something done in this gods-forsaken world, you have to do it yourself.”

Pelor grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like  _ oh, so  _ you _ can insult the gods all you want… _

“Shut up, brat.”

“Her family’s dead,” Celaena reminded him, confirming Telmor’s suspicions about what she’d been hinting at earlier. “She currently holds no political influence, much less has the funds to feed, arm, and pay an army.”

Rowan hummed and flipped the page. “Not yet, she doesn’t.”

“What?” Celaena whirled around in her seat, her eyes zeroing in on him. “She… what?”

Rowan just gave another one of those insufferable smirks and ignored her question.

**The Flatlands would** **_prosper_ ** **if they had an army of assassins to defend them. But no, they just sit in their oasis, silent and thoughtful, and whore themselves out to foreign courts.**

Dorian rubbed his chin in thought. Perhaps after Celaena’s contract was up, if he couldn’t convince her to stay, he should look into acquiring a permanent addition from the Silent Assassins. It would certainly be useful for weeding out the most radical of his father’s supporters once Dorian took the crown.

Hopefully, that would be in a distant future. He couldn’t be allowed to think otherwise.

_ Free me, _ something inside him crooned nevertheless, wild and raging and untamable.  _ Burn the taint of darkness away and free me. _

**If** **_I_ ** **were the Master, I’d use our numbers for greatness—for glory. We’d defend every unprotected realm out there.” ...**

An ashy taste filled Celaena as she imagined what might have happened in Terrasen had had an army to defend themselves that night so long ago, if perhaps that dark rider upon his horse had not been allowed to make it so far as their estate.

_ That was a life lived and lost,  _ she reminded herself.  _ That girl doesn’t exist anymore. _

“There’s a time skip here,” Rowan’s voice next to her rumbled.

**… It was Market Day in Xandria, and though the city had long suffered from Adarlan’s embargo, it still seemed that there were vendors from all the kingdoms on the continent—and beyond. They were crammed into every possible space in the small, walled port city. All around Celaena were spices and jewels and clothes and food, some sold right out of brightly painted wagons, others spread on blankets in shadowy alcoves…**

Pelor seemed to have forgotten about the story of the witches and was listening to Rowan describe the city with wide eyes shimmering with excitement and longing.

Celaena had a feeling that if the boy survived this and was allowed to go free, he’d do his damndest to make his way to Xandria, even if just to see it all in person.

**… “I’m going to be a couple hours,” Ansel said, and waved a long, elegant hand to the sandstone palace hovering above the small city. “The old beast likes to talk and talk and talk. Why don’t you do some shopping?”**

Oh gods, Rowan already knew how this was going to play out. He still couldn’t believe she’d managed to talk him into wasting all his money on  _ confections, _ of all things.

**Celaena straightened. “I’m not going with you?”**

**“Into Berick’s palace? Of course not. It’s the Master’s business.”**

Cain and Grave exchanged equal smirks full of self-satisfaction, grasping at straws to try to get the upper hand on her. 

Despite the blood boiling within her, Celaena refused to give them the satisfaction of getting a reaction from her.

**… “Believe me, you’d much rather spend the next few hours in the souk than waiting in the stables with Berick’s men leering at you. Unlike us”—Ansel flashed that grin —“they don’t have access to baths whenever they please.”**

Nox coughed into his hand, hiding a surprised smile behind his palm.

**Ansel kept glancing at the palace, still a few blocks away. Nervous that she’d be late? Or nervous that she was going to confront Berick on behalf of the Master?**

“Neither,” Celaena grumbled. She still couldn’t believe she’d let down her guard enough to allow Ansel’s betrayal to shake her so much.

**… What could be so important and secret that Ansel wouldn’t allow her to partake in the meeting?**

“Something tells me it’s going to do with being a double agent,” Renault said dryly.

**Celaena took a step toward the palace, but passing people jostled her to and fro, and then a vendor began cooking something that smelled divine, and Celaena found herself following her nose instead.**

The corners of Chaol’s mouth twitched.

**She spent the two hours wandering from vendor to vendor. She cursed herself for not bringing more money with her. In Rifthold, she had a line of credit at all her favorite stores, and never had to bother carrying money, aside from small coppers and the occasional silver coin for tips and bribes.**

“You know,” Celaena mused, tapping her chin in thought. “I don’t think I ever settled my tabs before - well,  _ before. _ ” She paused momentarily, then threw her head back and cackled. “And since I’m legally incarcerated, I’m not even required to pay!”

Across the room, Chaol groaned and dropped his head in his hands. Rowan sighed heavily.

“Please pay them at your soonest convenience,” Dorian said, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t want to add thievery to your list of charges  _ again, _ even if your detainment status is in question.”

But the corners of his eyes were crinkling in suppressed laughter, and Celaena highly doubted he was actually keeping track of her unspoken crimes in any true legal sense.

**...She was standing under the striped awning of a vendor from the southern continent, debating if she had enough to buy the pair of curled-toe shoes before her** **_and_ ** **the lilac perfume she’d smelled at a wagon owned by white-haired maidens. The maidens claimed they were the priestesses of Lani, the goddess of dreams—and perfume, apparently.**

Pelor snorted.

**Celaena ran a finger down the emerald silk thread embroidered on the delicate shoes, tracing the curve of the point as it swept upward and curled over the shoe itself. They’d certainly be eye-catching in Rifthold. And no one else in the capital would have them.**

Rowan sighed, something that was becoming increasingly common, he noticed. “And  _ what _ would you have done with those, really?”

“In hindsight,” Celaena frowned. “Not much.”

**… She was about to turn around and walk right back to the vendor when something glistening in the shadows beneath an archway between buildings caught her eye. … No, it was what was** **_on_ ** **his table that knocked the breath from her and made her curse her too-light money purse.**

**Spidersilk.**

The room fell completely silent. 

Nox’s eyes were wide and his fingers were twitching, as though he wanted to steal the very words off the page.

**There were legends about the horse-sized stygian spiders that lurked in the woods of the Ruhnn Mountains of the north, spinning their thread for hefty costs. Some said they offered it in exchange for human flesh; others claimed the spiders dealt in years and dreams, and could take either as payment.**

“Woah,” Pelor breathed. “It’s that valuable.”

Renault nodded wordlessly. He’d heard the stories, but never thought they were  _ true. _

**Regardless, it was as delicate as gossamer, lovelier than silk, and stronger than steel. And she’d never seen so much of it before.**

**It was so rare that if you wanted it, odds were you had to go and get it for yourself. But here it was, yards of raw material waiting to be shaped. It was a kingdom’s ransom.**

Grave’s eyes took on a greedy, slimy look. 

**“You know,” the merchant said in the common tongue, taking in Celaena’s wide-eyed stare, “you’re the first person today to recognize it for what it is.”**

**“I’d know what that is even if I were blind.” She approached the table, but didn’t dare to touch the sheets of iridescent fabric. “But what are you doing here? Surely you can’t get much business in Xandria.”**

“Not in that shadowy corner,” Telmor said, barely above a breathless whisper. His attention was fixed on Rowan’s words.

**The man chuckled. … “I might also ask what a girl from the North is doing in Xandria.”**

“How did he know you were from the North?” Chaol’s brows furrowed in a frown. “Your accent is often nonexistent.”

“Right now, yes,” Celaena said, and let the heavy Adarlan accent drop into the more flowing cadence of Terrasen. “It’s been quite awhile since I’ve been back home, and it’s proven useful to be able to adopt different accents on my many assignments.” She shored her accent back up into the clipped rhythm it had been in for the past ten years amidst the disbelieving looks she was getting from the others around the table. “But he was referring to me being from Rifthold, from north of the Desert.”

Nox stared at Celaena. It had been so long since he’d heard others speak with his accent that his heart cried out to hear more of it, to remember that Terrasen had survived Adarlan’s conquest, even if it was a shell of its former glory.

Rowan had to take a deep breath. She’d sounded so like Aelin, then. Aelin, who had dropped her false Rifthold accent upon being reunited with Aedion, who let the cadence flow like the drop of water in her blood, proof of her survival, of her  _ people’s _ survival.

Gods, he missed Aelin. It hadn’t even been a week and he missed her so much.

“It’s really not good to sound like you’re from a conquered country in Adarlan. Especially in my profession. Honestly, it would be better that you all didn’t know,” Celaena continued with a sigh. “But seeing as these books are intent on revealing my secrets either way, what the hell is one more?”

**… “So, tell me, girl from the North, when have you seen Spidersilk?”**

**She clenched her fingers into fists to keep from touching the priceless material. “I know a courtesan in Rifthold whose madam had a handkerchief made from it—given to her by an extraordinarily wealthy client.”**

Grave spluttered. “What? Who?”

“That would be Clarrise DuVency,” she spat with barely-concealed disdain. “And good luck getting it from her; you’d have to pry it from her cold dead fingers.”

“That’s not a problem,” Grave said, his eyes far away, imagining the riches a square of Spidersilk could get him.

“I wouldn’t even stop you,” Celaena added, much to Chaol’s despair. “The world is better off without that whore.”

**... “In the depths of the Ruhnn Mountains, everything is a labyrinth of mist and trees and shadows. So you don’t find the stygian spiders—they find you.”**

A shudder went down Pelor’s spine. He didn’t mind dead spiders - couldn’t, given how often they and their venom were used in crafting poisons - but live ones creeped him out.

**Celaena stuffed her hands in her pockets to keep from touching the Spidersilk. Though her fingers were clean, there were still grains of red sand under her nails. “So why are you here, then?”**

**“My ship to the southern continent doesn’t leave for two days; why not set up shop? Xandria might not be Rifthold, but you never know who might approach your stall.” He winked at her. “How old are you, anyway?”**

**She raised her chin. “I turned seventeen two weeks ago.”**

Another weight felt like it was added to Telmor’s heart, crushing it with broken dreams and lost innocence. She was still so young, and she was even younger back then, but life seemed to continually deal her a bad hand.

**...“Not much younger than me,” he said.**

Pelor wrinkled his nose in confusion. “I thought you said he was old-looking.”

**She chuckled, but paused when she didn’t find him smiling.**

**“And how old are** **_you?”_ ** **she asked. There was no mistaking it—he** **_had_ ** **to be at least forty.**

“Forty is not old!” Telmor looked offended.

Pelor just shrugged. He was twelve, everyone more than ten years his senior seemed practically  _ ancient. _

**Even if his hair wasn’t sprinkled with silver, his skin was weathered.**

**“Twenty-five,” he said.**

“There’s no way he’s twenty-five,” Renault decided.

“Remember, the spiders are supposed to deal in age,” Pelor whispered.

The mercenary just scoffed. “That’s a myth, boy.”

**...The yards of Spidersilk lifted in a breeze from the nearby sea.**

**“Everything has a price,” he said. “Twenty years for a hundred yards of Spidersilk.**

Renault went still.

“It appears you’ve been corrected,” Grave said smugly.

The idea that any kind of magic was so powerful as to do that, the idea that any kind of magic still  _ existed _ after the massacres, was unsettling. Renault kept silent.

**… “Is there anything to be done about the years you lost?”**

**He waved a hand. “I followed the western side of the mountains on my way here, and met an old witch along the way.**

Celaena stiffened minutely.

**I asked if she could fix me, but she said what was taken was taken, and only the death of the spider who consumed my twenty years could return them to me.” He examined his hands, already lined with age. “For a copper more, she told me that only a great warrior could slay a stygian spider. The greatest warrior in the land ... Though perhaps an assassin from the North might do.”**

Nehemia glanced at her friend, who had gone silent.

“I’m flattered,” Celaena deadpanned at last, though it was a moment too late, and the shakiness of her voice was evident.

Rowan wished he could reach out and hold her, but it wasn’t like that with her, not yet, and to presume would be incredibly inappropriate of him. Instead, he settled for tightening his grip on the books and vowing to never let her go once she did come to him.

**“How did you—”**

**“You can’t honestly think no one knows about the** **_sessiz suikast?_ ** **Why else would a seventeen-year-old girl bearing exquisite daggers be here unescorted? And one who holds such fine company in Rifthold, no less. Are you here to spy for Lord Berick?”**

“Not me.”

**… “Perhaps,” was all Celaena said. The merchant nodded, not all that interested in it anymore. But Celaena tucked the information away for later. Were some of the Silent Assassins actually working** **_for_ ** **Berick? Perhaps that was why Ansel had insisted on keeping the meeting so secret—maybe the Master didn’t want the names of the suspected traitors getting out.**

Celaena grumbled something under her breath. 

Nehemia just adjusted the blanket to wrap it more securely around her friend’s shoulders.

**“So?” the merchant asked. “Will you retrieve my lost years for me?”**

**…. To journey into the depths of the Ruhnn Mountains, to slay a stygian spider. She could certainly see herself battling the eight-legged monstrosities. And witches. ...**

Well, Rowan conceded, she’d done one out of the two either way.

**As if he could read her daydreams, he said: “I could make you rich beyond your wildest imaginings.”**

**“I’m already rich. And I’m unavailable until the end of the summer.”**

Dorian and Chaol winced. Until the end of the summer plus more than a year.

As if sensing the direction their thoughts had gone, Celaena scowled at the table.

**“I won’t be back from the southern continent for at least a year, anyway,” he countered.**

**… “The next time you’re in Rifthold,” she said slowly, “seek out Arobynn Hamel.” The man’s eyes widened. She wondered how he’d react if he knew who** **_she_ ** **was. “He’ll know where to find me.” She turned from the table.**

**“But what’s your name?”**

Celaena scoffed. “Like I’d give it to him, especially there of all places. I’m just a nameless assassin and that’s all he needed to know.”

The words floated around Rowan, squeezing his heart. 

_ Nameless is my price. _

**She looked over her shoulder. “He’ll know where to find me,” she repeated, and began walking back toward the stall with the pointed shoes.**

Nehemia patted Celaena’s hand with an amused smile. “Those seem highly impractical and very much not within the acceptable parameters of fashion in this country.”

“But they were so pretty,” Celaena mock pouted, then shot her friend a smile.

**“Wait!” She paused in time to see him fumbling with the folds of his tunic.**

**“Here.” He set down a plain wooden box on the table. “A reminder.”**

**Celaena flipped open the lid and her breath caught. A folded bit of woven Spidersilk lay inside, no larger than six square inches.**

Everyone turned to her. Nox’s fingers were twitching again.

“Oh don’t bother,” she scoffed, waving a hand lazily. “I don’t have it anymore.”

Rowan frowned. He didn’t know  _ this _ story. 

“You were in possession of Spidersilk,” Renault said slowly. “And you  _ don’t have it anymore.” _

“No,” she said, a lump rising in her throat. “It served its purpose, saving someone’s life, useless as that might have been in the long run.”

Rowan winced. She’d given it to Sam and somehow it had saved his life. He stared down everyone at the table, silently daring them to question further.

Either they all understood what went unspoken in Celaena’s explanation, or they decided it was in their best interests to not make Rowan angry. Whatever it was, everyone stayed silent and allowed Rowan to continue reading.

**She could buy ten horses with it. Not that she’d ever sell it. No, this was an heirloom to be passed down from generation to generation. If she ever had children. Which seemed highly unlikely.**

That hit Rowan like a bolt from a crossbow, knocking all the air from his lungs. If they survived the war  _ \- when _ they survived the war and say it to its end, he would have the possibility of life with Aelin, if she would still have him. And no matter for how long that might be, whether or not she Settled, he wanted to live those years to the fullest.

If she wanted, he would raise children with her. He could almost see them in his mind’s eye: little boys with his hair and her eyes, little girls with her chin and his nose. Perfect mixes of the two of them, beautiful and precious and  _ loved. _

Love unconditionally. He would never make them think otherwise. Perhaps they would be Fae, perhaps not, but he would love them for as long as he lived, even if that was far after their children’s children turned to dust in the earth.

“Rowan?”

Celaena’s voice brought him back to the present.  _ Celaena, _ not Aelin. Because he’d left Aelin behind in what was shaping up to be a different universe, and he had no idea if he’d ever get back to her.

“You okay?” Celaena’s blue-gold eyes were wide with concern.

“I’m fine,” he rasped. “Just lost in thought.”

She didn’t look convinced, but let the subject drop. He cleared his throat and picked up where he left in the chapter.

It was easier just to ignore the knowing looks Telmor was giving him across the table.

**“A reminder of what?” She shut the lid and tucked the small box into the inner pocket of her white tunic.**

**The merchant smiled sadly. “That everything has a price.”**

_ Nameless is my price. _

**A phantom pain flashed through her face. “I know,” she said, and left.**

_ Nameless is my price. _

**She wound up buying the shoes…**

“Of course you did,” Nehemia teased fondly.

Celaena grinned back. “We should really go shopping some time, just the two of us.”

Nehemia’s teasing smile softening into something gentle. “I think after all this is over, we’ll deserve it.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Celaena laughed and clinked her crystal water glass against Nehemia’s.

**When the city bells pealed three o’clock, she was sitting on the lip of the fountain, munching on what she** **_hoped_ ** **was mashed beans inside a warm bread pocket.**

Pelor made a face and shuddered at the thought of what else it could be.

**Ansel was fifteen minutes late, and didn’t apologize. She merely grabbed Celaena’s arm and began leading her through the still-packed streets, her freckled face gleaming with sweat.**

**“What is it?” Celaena asked. “What happened in your meeting?”**

**“That’s none of your business,” Ansel said a bit sharply. Then she added, “Just follow me.”**

**They wound up sneaking inside the Lord of Xandria’s palace walls…**

Rowan felt a migraine coming on.

**But they didn’t head to the towering central building. No—they approached the stables, where they slipped around the guards and entered the pungent shadows within.**

Chaol dropped his head into his hands once again.

**“There had better be a good reason for this,” Celaena warned as Ansel crept toward a pen.**

**“Oh, there is,” she hissed back, and stopped at a gate, waving Celaena forward.**

**Celaena frowned. “It’s a horse.” But even as the words left her mouth, she knew it wasn’t.**

**“It’s an Asterion horse,” …**

Dorian’s eyes went wide. Probably alone among those in the council room, he knew the true value of an Asterion horse, powerful and expensive and highly sought-after. If Celaena had somehow gotten her hands on one of them…

**The horse was black as pitch, with dark eyes that bored into Celaena’s own. She’d heard of Asterion horses, of course. The most ancient breed of horse in Erilea. Legend claimed that the Fae had made them from the four winds—spirit from the north, strength from the south, speed from the east, and wisdom from the west, all rolled into the slender-snouted, high-tailed, lovely creature that stood before her.**

Celaena turned to Rowan expectantly.

“What?” he squawked, looking put-out. “I’m not  _ that _ old!”

“How old are you?” Pelor piped up, yelping soon after when Renault kicked him and whispered something about manners.

Rowan just looked amused. He lowered the book enough to look the boy in the eyes. “More than three hunderead years.”

Pelor’s mouth dropped open as he gawked at the prince. Several people in the room shifted uneasily.

Rowan chuckled as he went back to the book.

**“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” Ansel whispered. “Her name is Hisli.” … “And that one,” Ansel said, pointing to the next stall, “is named Kasida—it means ‘drinker of the wind’ in the desert dialect.”**

**Kasida’s name was fitting. The slender mare was a dapple gray, with a sea- foam white mane and thundercloud coat. She huffed and stomped her forelegs, staring at Celaena with eyes that seemed older than the earth itself. Celaena suddenly understood why the Asterion horses were worth their weight in gold.**

More than that, Dorian knew, but they made for exceptional and exquisite gifts. Chaol  _ did _ have a birthday coming up…

**“Lord Berick got them today. Bought them from a merchant on his way to Banjali.” Ansel slipped into Hisli’s pen. She cooed and murmured, stroking the horse’s muzzle. “He’s planning on testing them out in half an hour.” That explained why they were already saddled.**

Celaena grumbled something again under her breath.

**“And?” Celaena whispered, holding out a hand for Kasida to smell. The mare’s nostrils flared, her velvety nose tickling Celaena’s fingertips.**

**“And then he’s either going to give them away as a bribe, or lose interest and let them languish here for the rest of their lives. Lord Berick tends to tire of his playthings rather quickly.”**

Telmor winced at  _ that _ particular wording.

**“What a waste.”**

**“Indeed it is,” Ansel muttered from inside the stall. Celaena lowered her fingers from Kasida’s muzzle and peered into Hisli’s pen. Ansel was running a hand down Hisli’s black flank, her face still full of wonder. Then she turned. “Are you a strong rider?”**

**“Of course,” Celaena said slowly.**

Rowan breathed out a heavy sigh through his nose. He already knew where this was going...

**“Good.”**

**Celaena bit down on her cry of alarm as Ansel unlocked the stall door and guided Hisli out of her pen. In a smooth, quick motion, the girl was atop the horse, clutching the reins in one hand. “Because you’re going to have to ride like hell.”**

“You’re stealing Asterion horses,” Nox said slowly, turning to look at Celaena. “Asterion  _ mares. _ Do you  _ have _ a death wish?”

Celaena scoffed and waved away his statement. “I’m sure you would have done the same.”

Nox bit back his response, partly because he knew she was right.

**With that, Ansel sent Hisli into a gallop, heading straight for the stable doors.**

**Celaena didn’t have time to gape or really even to process what she was about to do as she unlocked Kasida’s pen, yanked her out, and heaved herself into the saddle. With a muffled curse, she dug her heels into the mare’s sides and took off.**

Rowan set the book down and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You,” he said, turning to Celaena, “Are going to make me go grey.”

She squinted at him. “Your hair is silver,” she pointed out.

_ “Exactly.” _

Ignoring Celaena’s cries of indignation, Chaol stepped forward and reached for the book. “It will be better for my sanity that I gets somewhat of a heads-up before your past self does something stupid. But for the love of the gods,  _stop committing crimes!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do head canon that Celaena/Aelin has a different accent from Dorian and Choal, particularly considering their worlds are (I believe) based off of Scotland and England respectively, which have vastly different accents to each other, but I also think that after so long in Adarlan she would have been able to adopt an Adarlan accent at will, and that's the one she usually uses because being from Terrasen can be dangerous.
> 
> Also, I'm running out of chapter titles, so if you guys have any suggestions, I'm happy to hear them! Just write them in the comments and if I end up using one, I'll definitely credit you.


	24. to steal youth in a single day

Celaena was still pouting when Chaol retreated back to his place at Dorian’s side. Standing on the dais, he could see the whole scope of the room, and everyone seated around the council table.

Three assassins, a thief, a mercenary, two former soldiers, and three royals of varying status. Yes, Chaol was glad he’d increased the guard count in this wing of the castle.

He doubted most noticed, though the warrior prince was the exception -  _ he seemed to know everything  _ \- but likely none of the Champions saw anything unusual about the rotations of guards that shuffled in and out of the room every few hours. Only the personal guards of each of the Champions and Princess Nehemia’s entourage remained constant within the chambers, but he’d made sure that there were extra men patrolling the grounds the room overlooked, and he’d doubled the guard stationed at each exit in the hall.

Celaena was dangerous, that much was becoming increasingly clear to him, but so were the others around the table. If need be, he’d have the manpower to subdue any unrest before it escalated into another fistfight, and he was sure that it would be enough to contain the Fae if worst-case scenarios were realized.

With that assessment, Chaol let out a breath. He could relax his guard, just for a moment, even if only to read a book.

“Chapter six,” he said, and did a double-take, huffing disappointedly through his nose. As he spoke, he seemed to direct all his displeasure toward Celaena, who bit her lip with a guilty, knowing grin.

**… Celaena looked back through the crowded streets only once—and that was enough to see the three mounted guards charging after them, shouting.**

“I can’t believe you stole Asterion mares,” Nox said slowly, shaking his head.

With a roll of her eyes, Celaena snuggled further into the blanket wrapped around her and Nehemia. Just reading about it made the contrasts between the Red Desert and Rifthold incredibly distinct, and the climate was the least of it.

**But the girls were already through the city gate and into the sea of red dunes that spread beyond...**

**Kasida moved like thunder and turned with the swiftness of lightning. …**

Celaena sighed a little, remembering the magnificence of riding Kasida, if only for a breathless moment.

**Celaena clung to Kasida’s mane as they took dune after dune, up and down, down and up, until there was only the red sand and the cloudless sky and the rumble of hooves, hooves, hooves rolling through the world.**

**Ansel slowed enough for Celaena to catch up, and they galloped along the broad, flat top of a dune.**

**“Are you out of your damned mind?” Celaena shouted.**

“Takes one to know one,” Pelor giggled under his breath, much to the shocked amusement of Rowan, who barely turned his snort into a cough.

“Pelor!” Celaena cried. “I am  _ offended.” _

But her lips were twitching and Nehemia was covering his smile with the hand not holding the edge of the blanket, and Celaena found she really didn’t care.

**“I don’t want to walk home! We’re taking a shortcut!” Ansel shouted back. Behind them, the three guards still charged onward.**

**Celaena debated slamming Kasida into Hisli to send Ansel tumbling onto the dunes—leaving her for the guards to take care of—but the girl pointed over Hisli’s dark head. “Live a little, Sardothien!”**

“Yes, great idea!” Nox cried, a little hysterically. “How about we try  _ living _ for a change?”

Yes, Rowan decided. He officially liked Nox.

**And just like that, the dunes parted to reveal the turquoise expanse of the Gulf of Oro. …**

_ Gods, _ those horses were fast. Dorian knew how far Xandria was from the sea, and to think that it had only taken a page’s worth of writing…

**… Celaena had a sudden moment of clarity then, as her hair ripped from her braid and the wind tore at her clothes. Of all the girls in all the world, here she was on a spit of beach in the Red Desert, astride an Asterion horse, racing faster than the wind. Most would never experience this** **_—she_ ** **would never experience anything like this again. And for that one heartbeat, when there was nothing more to it than that, she tasted bliss so complete that she tipped her head back to the sky and laughed.**

Celaena remembered that like a fever dream. That had been the first time she’d felt so carefree since… since… well, since she’d woken up on the bank of that frozen river, so many years ago. She hadn’t felt like that since, not with the assassinations and the torture and the mines and the competition.

She would give up even the fleeting glimpse of that feeling just to have Sam back, to have not made the choices she had years ago.

But just like Sam, just like her kingdom, she knew it was nothing but ashes in the wind, a broken dream that time had since forgotten.

**The guards reached the beach, their fierce cries nearly swallowed up by the booming surf.**

**Ansel cut away, surging toward the dunes and the giant wall of rock that arose nearby. The Desert Cleaver, if Celaena knew her geography correctly—which she did, as she’d studied maps of the Deserted Land for weeks now.**

Chaol’s long-suffering sigh as he read got Pelor giggling. 

**… Ansel glanced over her shoulder, her red hair streaming past her face. “They’ll chase us to the doors of the fortress if we go the long way!” But the guards couldn’t make the jump, not with ordinary horses.**

Renault scrubbed a hand down his face. “Let me get this straight. You’ve stolen two priceless horses from a guy who already wants to kill you, you’re being chased out into a deadly desert, and now you’re going to  _ jump a canyon that’s named Desert Cleaver?!” _

Celaena hummed in confirmation. “You missed the part where we have several valuables on us, and Ansel is currently the public face of the Silent Assassins in their dealings with Xandria.”

The mercenary made a hysterical little noise in the back of his throat.

“Are you okay, Renault?” Pelor asked. “You sounded funny just then.”

“I’m fine,” Renault said, then cleared his throat so his voice evened out. “Fine.”

Chaol sighed again.

**A narrow opening in the wall of red rock appeared, twisting away from sight. Ansel headed straight toward it. How** **_dare_ ** **she make such a reckless, stupid decision without consulting Celaena first?**

Telmor dropped his face in his hands. The reckless and wild youth, laughing in the face of mortality and chasing their dreams into the sunset. Hindsight would come with age.

“Now you know how the rest of us feel,” Rowan turned to Celaena with a smirk.

She stuck out her tongue. “Since that’s in the future, your argument is invalid.”

**“You planned this the whole time,” Celaena snapped.**

Celaena’s smile vanished, and with it any semblance of humour that had fallen over the room.

It had all been planned, every moment of it. She’d been nothing more than a pawn in Ansel’s games, a chess piece to further the other’s agenda.

If she ever met Ansel again, as Rowan hinted, she was going to deck her in the face.

**… Ansel didn’t reply. She just sent Hisli flying forward.**

**Celaena had to choose between the unforgiving walls of the Cleaver and the three guards behind them. She could take the guards in a few seconds—if she slowed enough to draw her daggers.**

“But they have the advantage with their weapons,” Telmor said, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “You might be able to take them out, but there’d be a high chance your - uh,  _ the _ horse would be injured, leaving you stranded in the desert.”

“Yeah,” Celaena said, her mouth tasting sour. “Good thing I didn’t do that.”

**But they were mounted, and aiming might be impossible.**

“I don’t believe it,” Pelor said resolutely. He crossed his arms. “I remember the first Test, and I  _ know _ you could have killed those guards if you’d wanted to.”

Celaena blinked at the unexpected praise. “Um, thank you.”

**… Cursing colorfully, Celaena plunged after Ansel into the passage through the canyon.**

**... It would have been nice, she realized, to have Sam with her. He might be a pain in her ass, but he’d proven himself to be more than handy in a fight. Extraordinarily skilled, if she felt like admitting it.**

There was a look in Grave’s eyes that made Celaena want to shiver.

**Ansel wove and turned with the passage, fast as a stream down a mountainside, and it was all Celaena could do to hold on to Kasida as they followed.**

Cain snorted. “More used to prissy princess carriages, Sardothien?” His voice was hoarse from the bruises around his throat, but that didn’t lessen the effect his words had.

“It’s a shame I don’t have any,” Celaena agreed sarcastically, ignoring the  _ fearrageanger _ that slammed against the cage deep inside her.

**A twang snapped through the canyon, and Celaena ducked low to Kasida’s surging head—just as an arrow ricocheted off the rock a few feet away.**

Rowan’s heart leapt into his throat. “I thought you said they weren’t going to fire at the horses!”

Celaena rolled her eyes. “ _ Clearly, _ I was wrong.”

**… Another sharp turn set her in the clear, but the relief was short-lived as she beheld the long, straight passage—and the ravine beyond it.**

**Celaena’s breath lodged in her throat. The jump had to be thirty feet at least— and she didn’t want to know how long a fall it was if she missed.**

Dorian’s stomach lurched, and from the sudden tension in Chaol and Nehemia’s shoulders, he knew they shared similar sentiments. 

“Is there ever just going to be a normal chapter?” Telmor asked, rubbing his forehead. “Do you  _ ever _ do  _ normal _ teenage things?”

Celaena tilted her head to look at him. “But these are what teenagers do?”

“No, no they’re not!” Nox cut in.  _ “Normal _ would be shopping for clothes with Her Highness, or gorging yourself on chocolate.  _ Normal _ is  _ not _ anywhere in the realm of  _ trying to kill yourself by jumping over a  _ thirty-foot _ ravine!” _

“Oh,” Celaena was at a loss for words. “I mean, I read sometimes? And I shop and eat chocolate occasionally, but this is what I do normally?”

Telmor made a noise of frustration.

“Worry not,” Nehemia said with a smile, grasping Celaena’s hand. “I will make sure to do… normal teenage things with her.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Telmor breathed and went back to rubbing his temples. Then, he muttered something under his breath about  _ my poor heart can’t take this… _

“Well,” Celaena said after an awkward moment. “Continue, Chaol!”

Chaol glared at her, but lifted the book and began reading again.

**Ansel barreled ahead; then her body tensed, and Hisli leapt from the cliff edge.**

**The sunlight caught in Ansel’s hair as they flew over the ravine, and she loosed a joyous cry that set the whole canyon humming. A moment later, she landed on the other side, with only inches to spare.**

Renault hissed between his teeth, looking uncomfortable with the direction the conversation went.

**There wasn’t enough room for Celaena to stop—even if she tried, they wouldn’t have enough space to slow down, and they’d go right over the edge.**

Rowan’s migraine was back.

“Fireheart, you’re going to be the death of me,” he murmured so only she could hear.

Something deep within Celaena keened at the name, but she otherwise didn’t acknowledge the prince’s comment.

**So she began praying to anyone, anything.**

“Don’t even think about it,” Renault clapped a hand over Pelor’s mouth before the boy could make another blasphemous comment.

**Kasida gave a sudden burst of speed, as if she, too, understood that only the gods would see them safely over.**

**And then they were at the lip of the ravine, which went down, down, down to a jade river hundreds of feet below. And Kasida was soaring, only air beneath them, nothing to keep her from the death that now wrapped around her completely.**

_ “Gross!” _

Renault’s yell broke the tension in the room.

“You didn’t have to  _ lick _ me!” he snapped.

Pelor shrugged. “It was  _ you _ who put your hand there. And I couldn’t breathe.”

“Be better for me if you dropped down dead,” Renault grumbled.

Satisfied that nothing needing immediate action had happened, Chaol returned to the book.

**Celaena could only hold on and wait to fall, to die, to scream as she met her horrible end ...**

**But then there was rock under them, solid rock. She gripped Kasida tighter as they landed in the narrow passage on the other side, the impact exploding through her bones, and kept galloping.**

“Oh thank the gods,” Dorian slumped in his chair. “It’s good to know that you’ve been pulling stunts like this for ages. I thought you were just trying to get a rise out of Chaol.”

A vein in Chaol’s forehead pulsed dangerously.

“I mean,” Celaena waved the comment away with a lazy hand. “That’s just an added bonus.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Chaol snapped. “I’d like to finish this?”

Celaena and Dorian shared matching smirks of mischievous satisfaction.

**… When the horses were too winded to keep running, Ansel finally stopped atop a dune, Celaena pulling up beside her. Ansel looked at Celaena, wildness still rampant in her eyes. “Wasn’t that wonderful?”**

“For you, maybe,” Rowan said, running a relieved hand through his short hair. “But you certainly left  _ that _ part out when you told me the story.”

**Breathing hard, Celaena didn’t say anything as she punched Ansel so hard in the face that the girl went flying off her horse and tumbled onto the sand.**

Nehemia forced her grin into a mask of neutrality, but one look at Celaena broke it. “I cannot believe you did that, Elentiya.”

“She had it coming!” Celaena protested.

**Ansel just clutched her jaw and laughed.**

Rowan felt the urge to hit his head against the table.  _ Dear gods, there were two of them. _

**Though they could have made it back before midnight, and though Celaena pushed her to continue riding, Ansel insisted on stopping for the night. So when their campfire was nothing but embers and the horses were dozing behind them, Ansel and Celaena lay on their backs on the side of a dune and stared up at the stars.**

The wide expanse of the night sky, free from the lights and smog of Rifthold, had been a wondrous sight to behold. Even if she’d lived her whole life with that sky overhead, Celaena knew she’d never see something quite as breathtaking.

**… “You know,” Ansel said quietly, “I never learned the constellations. Though I think ours are different from yours—the names, I mean.”**

**It took Celaena a moment to realize that by “ours” she didn’t mean the Silent Assassins—she meant her people in the Western Wastes.**

“That’s sad,” Pelor whispered. 

Telmor nodded wordlessly beside him.

**Celaena pointed to a cluster of stars to their left. “That’s the dragon.” She traced the shape. “See the head, legs, and tail?”**

**“No.” Ansel chuckled.**

**Celaena nudged her with an elbow and pointed to another grouping of stars.**

**“That’s the swan. The lines on either side are the wings, and the arc is its neck.”**

**“What about that one?” Ansel said.**

**“That’s the stag,” Celaena breathed. “The Lord of the North.”**

Celaena bowed her head. The Lord had watched his last heir enter the darkness of the mines, and she wasn’t sure how much of that girl remained now.

**“Why does he get a fancy title? What about the swan and the dragon?” Celaena snorted, but the smile faded when she stared at the familiar constellation. “Because the stag remains constant—no matter the season, he’s always there.”**

Nox’s throat bobbed, and he exchanged a long look with Celaena, full of sorrow and yearning.

Celaena looked away first.

**“Why?”**

**Celaena took a long breath. “So the people of Terrasen will always know how to find their way home.**

The room fell silent, more so than just with the absence of voice. A heavy feeling settled over the council chambers.

**So they can look up at the sky, no matter where they are, and know Terrasen is forever with them.”**

Nehemia turned and adjusted the blanket around Celaena, before wrapping her arm around her waist and leaning the assassin’s head against her shoulder, mindful of her jewelry. The princess was ready to do anything for her people, anything for her kingdom, but she  _ had _ a country to call home. The people of Terrasen were now scattered to the four winds, the land above Adarlan muted in its presence.

The Lord of the North might still be there, Nehemia knew, but the Terrasen Celaena remembered was gone.

**“Do you ever want to return to Terrasen?”**

“I can’t,” Celaena whispered.

If anyone caught the soft break in her voice, they didn’t mention it.

**… Ansel’s attention remained on the stars. “I lied to the Master when I came here… My father never sent me to train. And there is no Briarcliff, or Briarcliff Hall. There hasn’t been for five years.”**

They’d already known that, Celaena had already told them, but to hear it put so plainly by its sole heir… it made Dorian want to curl up in a ball and stop existing for a moment.

**A dozen questions sprung up, but Celaena kept her mouth shut, letting Ansel speak.**

**“I was twelve,” Ansel said, “when Lord Loch took several territories around Briarcliff, and then demanded we yield to him as well—that we bow to him as High King of the Wastes. My father refused. He said there was one tyrant already conquering everything east of the mountains—he didn’t want one in the west, too.”**

Dorian let out a shaky breath. That was how people viewed them:  _ tyrants. _ That was going to be his legacy, an empire ruled with an iron fist. 

And perhaps if he hadn’t met Celaena, if he hadn’t read these books, he’d have been okay with that, content to turn a blind eye to the injustices of his country and return to his dalliences with noblewomen.

But now…

**Celaena’s blood went cold as she braced herself for what she was certain was coming. “Two weeks later, Lord Loch marched into our land with his men, seizing our villages, our livelihood, our people. And when he got to Briarcliff Hall ...”**

**Ansel drew a shuddering breath. “... My sister and father were upstairs, and Loch stayed in the kitchen as his men brought them down and ... I didn’t dare make a sound as Lord Loch made my father watch as he ...”**

“Fuck,” Renault breathed, and closed his eyes, as though that would stop the images dancing in his mind.  _ “Fuck.” _

**“My father begged on his hands and knees, but Loch still made my father watch as he slit my sister’s throat, then his. And I just hid there, even as they killed our servants, too. I hid there and did nothing.**

Pelor had gone pale again.

**“And when they were gone, I took my father’s sword from his corpse and ran. ...**

**Ansel wiped at her eyes. “So I’ve been here ever since, training for the day when I’m strong enough and fast enough to return to Briarcliff and take back what is mine.**

It was a foolish thought to think that she could do the same.

**Someday, I’ll march into High King Loch’s hall and repay him for what he did to my family. With my father’s sword.” Her hand grazed the wolf- head hilt. “This sword will end his life. Because this sword is all I have left of them.”**

**Celaena hadn’t realized she was crying until she tried to take a deep breath. Saying that she was sorry didn’t feel adequate. She knew what this sort of loss was like, and words didn’t do anything at all.**

“I don’t need your pity,” she gritted out with a glare. The others in the room pretended they weren’t looking at her, but Nox just stayed there, something sad and understanding in his eyes.

She tore her gaze away as something prickled in her eyes.

**Ansel slowly turned to look at her, her eyes lined with silver. She traced Celaena’s cheekbone, where the bruises had once been. “Where do men find it in themselves to do such monstrous things? How do they find it acceptable?”**

**“We’ll make them pay for it in the end.” Celaena grasped Ansel’s hand. The girl squeezed back hard. “We’ll see to it that they pay.”**

**“Yes.” Ansel shifted her gaze back to the stars. “Yes, we will.”**

The book snapping shut in Chaol’s hands was the only sound in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts on chapter titles? Put them in the comments.


	25. the only reason that we're here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, the more I write this, the more I realize how traumatizing Celaena's childhood actually was...

“Chaol,” Dorian’s quiet voice was loud in the silent room. “I’ll read.”

Chaol handed the book off to his friend and resumed his place beside the throne, standing rigidly with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Chapter,” Dorian began, and cleared his throat. “Chapter seven.”

**…. She kept her mouth shut as she and Ansel knelt at the foot of the Master’s dais, heads bowed, eyes on the floor. She certainly wouldn’t convince him to train her now.**

There was a wicked smile tugging at the scabs of Cain’s split lip. “Finally figured out your actions have consequences, Sardothien?” he rasped.

Celaena jerked up from where she was leaning against Nehemia’s shoulder. “I figured that out a long time ago,” she snapped. “Thanks.”

“Could have fooled me.” His gaze was dark and empty, blood from his lips staining his teeth pink.

Something angry roiled within her, but then there was a calm weight on her arm. Rowan gave her a warning look and removed his hand. His eyes clearly said,  _ not here, not now. Later. _

Celaena grit her teeth and returned her attention to Dorian. She’d have to satisfy herself with dreaming about Cain’s death, for now.

**… He wanted them to feel the dread of his approach.**

**And Celaena felt it. She felt each footstep, the phantom bruises on her face throbbing with the memory of Arobynn’s fists.**

“Oh, Elentyia, no,” Nehemia whispered, tucking a loose lock of Celaena’s hair behind her ear. “He won’t hurt you.”

Celaena tilted her head. “How do you know that? I never told you.”

Nehemia gave a knowing smile. “Because everyone else had been upset with the state you arrived in. It’s far more telling of how he treats his students than you might believe.”

**And suddenly, as the memory of that day echoed through her, she remembered the words Sam kept screaming at Arobynn as the King of the Assassins beat her, the words that she somehow had forgotten in the fog of pain:** **_I’ll kill you!_ **

Rowan’s eyes were sad. Celaena couldn’t figure out why. What reason would he have for mourning a mortal boy he’d never met, who had died months ago?

**… The clear, unexpected memory was almost jarring enough for her to forget where she was—but then the snow-white robes of the Master came into view. Her mouth went dry.**

Her mouth had gone dry again with the memory. She licked her lips.

Wordlessly, Nehemia pushed her glass of water closer.

**“We only wanted to have some fun,” Ansel said quietly. “We can return the horses.”**

Renault winced. “I think you’d be killed if you did.”

“You’ve gotten away with it already,” Nox agreed. “Don’t tempt fate by going back.”

**Celaena, head still lowered, glanced toward Ansel. She was staring up at the Master as he towered over them. “I’m sorry,” Celaena murmured…**

“Hah!” Grave barked. “Didn’t know you knew how to do that!”

“Only for people who deserve to hear it,” she said, pining Cain with firm glare.

He scowled at her and held her gaze.

**The Master just stood there.**

**Ansel was the first to break under his stare. She sighed. “I know it was foolish. But there’s nothing to worry about. I can handle Lord Berick; I’ve been handling him for ages.”**

“Been doing more than  _ handling,” _ Celaena grumbled.

**… The Master’s clothes whispered as they moved, and Celaena flinched when she felt his calloused fingers hook under her chin.**

Chaol shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, then rocked back again. Celaena’s reactions were starting to add up to a sickening conclusion. 

Once this was all over, he was taking a patrol of his men and going to go find the Keep. Everyone would be better off with Arobynn Hamel locked in the bowels of the castle.

**He lifted her head so she was forced to look at him, his face lined with disapproval. She remained perfectly still, bracing herself for the strike, already praying he wouldn’t damage her too significantly.**

Nehemia’s grip on Celaena’s arm tightened marginally. Her smile became fixed.

**But then the Master’s sea-green eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and he gave her a sad smile as he released her.**

Pelor let out a breath. He was starting to  _ like _ Celaena, or at least admire her, and this wasn’t fair for anyone! She seemed like she needed a hug.

**… And if he kicked out Ansel for what they’d done ... Ansel needed to be here, to learn all that these assassins could teach her, because Ansel wanted to** **_do_ ** **something with her life. Ansel had a purpose. And Celaena …**

Celaena grimaced and focused on the grains of wood in the table. She didn’t want to face the charged silence in the room, the disappointed looks she was sure would be on the faces of her friends, the satisfaction of admittance in Cain and Grave’s expressions…

**“It was my idea,” Celaena blurted…**

“Wait, what?” Pelor sat up straight and scratched his nose. “Did I miss something?”

Nox sighed. “She’s lying to protect Ansel.”

“Oh, okay,” Pelor said. “That’s what I thought. Nevermind.”

**“I didn’t feel like walking back here, and I thought it would be useful to have horses. And when I saw the Asterion mares ... I thought we might as well travel in style.”**

Dorian raised an eyebrow as he read. That sounded… remarkably like something the Celaena he knew would say. Was everything a lie, then?

**... “Since we like horses so much, maybe we could ... be on stable duty? For the morning shift. Until Celaena leaves.”**

“Ugh!” Celaena tipped her head back against the chair, but refused to make eye contact with anyone. Her cheeks still flushed red.

**.... The Master glanced toward the doors behind them. They were dismissed. ... But as Celaena turned, the Master grabbed her arm.**

“The hell is he playing at?” Renault muttered, crossing his arms.

**Ansel paused to watch as the Master made a few motions with his hand. When he finished, Ansel’s brows rose...**

**“You’re to report to him at sunset tomorrow. For your first lesson.”**

“Wait, seriously?!” Pelor grinned and swung his feet under the table. “I thought you’d never make it!”

Celaena’s lips tightened. “This is my life, boy, and it’s real. I told you I trained with the Silent Assassins,  _ so of course I fucking did.” _

Pelor wilted in on himself at the sudden change in her tone, but Celaena didn’t care. She wanted everyone to stop reading this, to stop treating her life like a story book where you wanted to cheer the heroine on and knew there was a happy ending waiting within the pages. Her life was anything but happy, and she was so  _ done _ with this stupid book.

**… Whatever he had seen in her face, whatever she had said ... somehow, she’d proven herself to him at last.**

Rowan rubbed his chin. She was taking the steps towards becoming Aelin - most of the pieces were there, he could see them - but she wasn’t her, not yet. But soon.

**It turned out that they weren’t just responsible for shoveling horse dung. Oh, no—they were responsible for cleaning the pens of** **_all_ ** **the four-legged livestock in the fortress…**

Pelor made an exaggerated gagging sound, and despite the irritation she felt toward him, Celaena couldn’t help but agree.

**Another benefit was that they didn’t have to go running. Though after four hours of shoveling animal droppings, Celaena would have begged to take the six-mile run instead.**

Nox grimaced. “Be careful what you wish for,” he warned. “With your luck, you’ll end up doing both.”

**...After taking a few staircases and then climbing a wooden ladder and squeezing through a hatch in the ceiling, she found herself in the open air high atop the fortress.**

“Sardothien,” Renault said slowly. “Why are you on the roof?”

“Because the Mute Master likes  _ alternative _ training methods,” Celaena answered dryly. 

**The Master stood by the parapet, gazing across the desert. She cleared her throat, but he remained with his back to her.**

**The roof couldn’t have been more than twenty square feet...**

Rowan sucked in a breath between his teeth. 

**He gave her a nod and pointed to the reed basket, beckoning her to open the lid. Doing her best not to look skeptical, hoping there was a beautiful new weapon inside, she approached. She stopped when she heard the hissing.**

“Oh no,” Nehemia hid her knowing smile.

**Unpleasant, don’t-come-closer hissing. From inside the basket.**

“Are all your masters crazy?” Telmor sighed, rubbing his temples. “Please tell me there isn’t a rabid animal in that basket.”

Celaena hesitated. “Well, it wasn’t  _ rabid…” _

**She turned to the Master, who hopped onto one of the merlons, his bare feet dangling in the gap between one block of stone and the next, and beckoned her again.**

Rowan resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.  _ It’s only going to get worse, _ he reminded himself.  _ Save your exasperation for later. _

**Palms sweating, Celaena took a deep breath and snatched back the lid.**

**A black asp curled into itself, head drawn back low as it hissed.**

“Oh for fucks sake!” Dorian suddenly exclaimed, waving the book in the air. He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face before finding his place on the page once again.

Celaena just looked befuddled.

**Celaena leapt away a yard, making for the parapet wall, but the Master let out a low click of his tongue.**

**His hands moved, flowing and winding through the air like a river—like a snake.** **_Observe it_ ** **, he seemed to tell her.** **_Move with it_ ** **.**

Suddenly, Rowan could see the merit in the Mute Master’s plan. It was still utterly foolish and made something in his chest seize tightly, but it would give results.

**She looked back at the basket in time to see the slender, black head of the asp slide over the rim, then down to the tiled roof.**

**Her heart thundered in her chest. It was poisonous, wasn’t it? It had to be. It looked poisonous.**

Nehemia hummed. “The black asps in Eyllwe are. The same could be said for those in the Red Desert.”

**… She reached for a dagger, but the Master again clicked his tongue. A glance in his direction was enough for her to understand the meaning of the sound.**

**_Don’t kill it. Absorb_ ** **.**

Cain was listening to the book with a kind of rapt attention he hadn’t had before. The calculating gaze in those soulless dark eyes was unnerving.

Celaena turned away, but kept one eye on the hulking form of the soldier.

**The snake moved effortlessly, lazily, and tasted the evening air with its black tongue.**

“Don’t get bitten,” Pelor whispered. “Its venom is painful and deadly.”

No one asked how he knew that.

**… Night after night, the Master watched from nearby, never saying a word, never doing anything except occasionally pointing out how an animal moved.**

“He has… interesting training methods,” Chaol surmised with a grimace. 

“But they  _ are _ effective,” Celaena reminded him, with a grin that showed a hint of her teeth. Reminded him that  _ she _ was a predator as well.

**... But Ansel was merry—almost gleeful, more and more with every passing day. She never said why, exactly, but Celaena found it rather infectious.**

Telmor sighed. “Does she keep the charade up much longer?”

“I don’t think so,” Rowan said before Celaena could gather her thoughts. “Celaena has only a handful of days left until she leaves, and I know that something happened just before she left. So, no, I think Ansel’s going to make her move sooner rather than later.”

Celaena eyed the Fae warily. How did he know that? What else might her future self have told him?

**And every day, Celaena went to sleep after lunch and dozed until the sun went down, her dreams full of snakes and rabbits and chirping desert beetles.**

Pelor wrinkled his nose. “Weird.”

**Sometimes she spotted Mikhail training the acolytes, or found Ilias meditating in an empty training room, but she rarely got the chance to spend time with them.**

And she never would, because Mikhail was dead, and Ilias was on the other side of the continent. She thought that they might have been friends, by the end of her stay, but she’d never see them again.

**They had no more attacks from Lord Berick, either. Whatever Ansel had said during that meeting with him in Xandria, whatever the Master’s letter had contained, it seemed to have worked, even after the theft of his horses.**

Celaena huffed and burrowed further into the blankets. Remembering Ansel’s betrayal always sent a chill through her body. She’d trusted someone once, but she vowed to never do that again.

**There were quiet moments also, when she wasn’t training or toiling with Ansel. Moments when her thoughts drifted back to Sam, to what he’d said.**

Renault rolled his eyes and made a disgusted noise from the back of his throat.

Celaena glared at him. “I don’t want to read this anymore than you do, so suck it up.”

**He’d threatened to** **_kill_ ** **Arobynn.**

And he’d been killed for it. Her eyes burned.

**For hurting her. She tried to work through it, tried to figure out what had changed in Skull’s Bay to make Sam dare say such a thing to the King of the Assassins.**

Nehemia stroked her thumb across the back of Celaena’s hand. Love was such a fickle thing, particularly when you fell for the first time. She only wished Celaena’s hadn’t ended the way it had.

But she would be there for her friend, no matter what. She’d be a shoulder to lean on until her destiny took her from this world.

**But whenever she caught herself thinking about it too much, she shoved those thoughts into the back of her mind.**

Dorian flipped through the pages and sighed. They still had a ways to go before the end of this novella, but as much as he wanted this to be over, he was in no rush to hear what would surely be a traumatizing series of events for Celaena to relieve. He shoved those thoughts away desperately. “Who wants to read next?”


	26. while they live, let them live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow! Is this me, updating for the second time in two days? Yes, yes it is.

“Um,” Pelor slowly rose in his seat. “I can read next - if-if that’s okay with you, Your Highness, I mean.”

Dorian looked at him and shrugged. “Sure, I guess.” 

He handed the book off to a servant, who brought it down from the dais and gave it to the small assassin. Pelor took the book and began to open it, then stopped and eyed it warily. “Nothing bad happens in this chapter, right?”

Celaena thought for a moment. “No,” she said slowly. “I don’t think so.”

“Alright!” Pelor said cheerfully and opened the book. “Chapter eight.”

**“You mean to tell me you do this** **_every day_ ** **?” ... They were sitting on Celaena’s bed, a scattering of cosmetics between them—a small fraction of Celaena’s enormous collection back in Rifthold. “Besides being useful for my work, it’s fun.”**

“See!” Celaena said suddenly, turning to Telmor. “Normal teenage things!”

He sighed and didn’t comment other than to shake his head.

**“Fun?” Ansel opened her other eye. “Smearing all this gunk on your face is fun?”**

Renault squinted at the makeup Nehemia and Celaena were wearing and decided he silently agreed with Ansel.

**Celaena set down her pot of rouge.**

Pelor giggled as he read the next line.  **“If you don’t shut up, I’ll draw a mustache on you.”**

“Yes, that is a threat,” Celaena deadpanned, crossing her arms, a grin on her face. It had been fun to have a girlfriend her age, if only for a little while, that she could gossip about boys and clothes with. She had Nehemia now, but it wasn’t the same. Celaena was too jaded after the mines and Nehemia’s status removed her from society too much for them to find common ground on such things.

But that was fine, Celaena supposed. She didn’t want another friendship like the one she thought she’d had with Ansel. Her friendship with Nehemia was calmer, quieter, more built on mutual trust and understanding, on books and dogs and coming to the castle under unfortunate circumstances, and that was perfectly alright with her.

**… Ansel always looked nice—better than nice, actually—but Celaena didn’t need to tell her that.**

Nehemia sighed, and shook her head with a fond smile on her face.

**“At a minimum, at least you don’t smell like horse droppings.”**

“That’s setting the bar low,” Renault said dryly. “I’m not sure how one could stoop farther.”

“You could show up smelling like horse shit  _ and _ not be wearing makeup,” Celaena suggested and grinned at the look of disgust on his face.

**… Celaena shook her head. “You’re going to have to wash it all off.”**

**“Why?”**

**“Because you look better than I do.”**

Privately, Rowan thought that impossible.

**Ansel pinched Celaena’s arm. Celaena pinched her back, laughter on her lips.**

Dorian hid a snort behind his hand.

**But then the single remaining week that Celaena had left loomed before her, brief and unforgiving, and her chest tightened at the thought of leaving.**

“Only one week left, and then you’ll go back to Arobynn?” Pelor asked, voice small. He fiddled with the page held between his fingers.

Celaena nodded wordlessly, unsure she’d ever be able to voice exactly how that thought made her feel.

**She hadn’t even dared ask the Master for her letter yet. But more than that ... Well, she’d never had a female friend—never really had** **_any_ ** **friends**

Nehemia frowned and squeezed Celaena’s hand.  _ I’m here, _ the gesture seemed to say.

Celaena squeezed back.  _ I know. _

**—and somehow, the thought of returning to Rifthold without Ansel was a tad unbearable.**

“Okay,” Pelor said. “There’s a time skip here.”

**… But the strangest part was the dancing. Even though there was no music, most of the people danced—some of the dances foreign and strange, some of them familiar. Everyone was smiling, but aside from the rustle of clothing and the scrape of merry feet against the stones, there was no sound.**

Dorian furrowed his brow. He’d been taught to waltz and foxtrot since before he could count the beats in the melodies, and yet he couldn’t imagine dancing without the crescendo of the piano forte swelling in the background. Dances belonged to late night balls, to stiff formal tunics and noblewomen whose faces blended together after a few drinks, to his mother’s endless list of brides and the weight of the crown upon his head.

To think that people danced without purpose, without calculating their every move and how it would reflect on their place in society for the rest of their lives, was foreign to him.

**But there** **_was_ ** **wine, and she and Ansel found a table in a corner of the courtyard and fully indulged themselves.**

“You were  _ seventeen!” _ Telmor cried, his hand clenching on the armrest. “You should  _ not _ have been drinking!”

Celaena shrugged. “It was there and they didn’t stop us. Besides, you act as though I haven’t been drinking socially since I was, like, fourteen.”

“Who was letting you drink at fourteen?!” Telmor looked like he was about to dissolve into hysterics.

“Arobynn,” Celaena said. “He liked to drag me around at parties. It was expected that I would drink.”

Telmor sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You were still growing, it could have seriously messed you up.”

Grave barked out a laugh. “I’m not sure it didn’t!”

Celaena chose to glare at him rather than try to puzzle out why Telmor would  _ care. _

**Though she loved, loved,** **_loved_ ** **parties,**

Chaol raised an eyebrow. She’d expressed that sentiment before, yes, but he’d never thought it was  _ real, _ merely a figment of the persona she put on before them. Perhaps he’d been mistaken.

**Celaena would have rather spent the night training with the Master.**

“As much as your work ethic is admirable,” Nehemia said, hiding a small smile. “You must take an evening for yourself, Elentiya. It was your friend’s birthday, it should’ve been spent with her.”

_ “Not my friend,” _ Celaena grumbled under her breath.

**...The old man danced to a rhythm Celaena could not hear or make out, and looked more like someone’s benevolent, clumsy grandfather than the master of some of the world’s greatest assassins.**

Pelor burst into laughter. Those around the table soon followed him.

**She couldn’t help but think of Arobynn, who was all calculated grace and restrained aggression—Arobynn who danced with a select few, and whose smile was razor-sharp.**

A chill went down Rowan’s spine as he remembered Arobynn’s possessive touches and lecherous smiles. He would make the man suffer for the things he’d put Aelin through.

**Mikhail had dragged Ansel to the dancing, and she was grinning as she twirled and bobbed and bounced from partner to partner, all of the assassins now keeping the same, silent beat.**

Pelor paused for a moment. “How do they do that? Figure out the same beat, I mean.”

Everyone turned to look at Celaena, who just shrugged.

**Ansel had experienced such horror, and yet she was still so carefree, so keenly alive.**

Chaol couldn’t help but draw the comparisons with Celaena. Carefree was not a word that could be used to describe the assassin, not with the way her every move was premeditated and she never let her guard drop, but alive? At one point, Chaol would have resolutely said _no._ He would have said she was a soulless shell of a person, nothing more than a ruthless killing machine. But now he wasn’t so sure. 

Perhaps it was living the better part of a year with her, perhaps it was only that he’d known her after the mines and really had nothing to compare it with, and yet… He couldn't help but be reminded of the prisoner he’d dragged from the mines, who’d taken her first untethered look at sunshine in months.

He remembered the way the sunken, blue-gold eyes stared at the sky, so wide and disbelieving on an emaciated face. He remembered the way her golden hair seemed to dance with the breeze as they travelled through Oakwald Forest, the way she’d listened when they’d spoken of Brannon and his kind.

Yes, Chaol decided. There was life to be found in Celaena Sardothien, if one only knew where to look.

**… Mikhail truly liked Ansel—that much was obvious. He always found excuses to touch her, always smiled at her, always looked at her as if she were the only person in the room.**

_ And she’d killed him in cold blood, _ Celaena thought in disgust. She really wasn’t in a position to argue against murder, but to have a person look at you like that and still kill them, to have a fleeting chance at being loved and end it with the smooth swipe of a knife placed against a neck…

**Celaena sloshed the wine around in her glass. If she were being honest, sometimes she thought Sam looked at her that way.**

“How much wine did you have to drink, Sardothien?” Renault raised an eyebrow.

“Three of four goblets, I think,” Celaena said slowly. “Why?”

“Because this is a fucking  _ book _ and even  _ I _ can see that he likes you!”

“Right,” Celaena said slowly, dragging the word out. “Okay. Pelor, moving on.”

**… Her stomach tightened. What had Arobynn done to him that night? ... She hadn’t dared look for him, actually. Because if Arobynn had hurt Sam the way he’d hurt her—if he’d hurt Sam** **_worse_ ** **than that …**

Her stomach lurched. If she thought about Sam and what she was now  _ certain _ was Arobynn’s involvement in his death, she was going to be sick all over the council table.

**… During the two days after she’d awoken from her beating, she’d used a good chunk of her savings to purchase her own apartment, away and well hidden from the Assassins’ Keep.**

“No,” Celaena said immediately, pushing away the thoughts of what that apartment was associated with. “I’m not telling you where it is, Chaol.”

The Captain just sighed. “I don’t know whether to be surprised or not that this never came up during your trial?”

Celaena shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You never took it, so I still legally own it. My apartment, my secret.”

He just pinched the bridge of his nose. “Whatever, Celaena.”

**She hadn’t told anyone—partially because she was worried she might change her mind while she was away—but with each day here, with each lesson with the Master, she was more and more resolved to tell Arobynn she was moving out.**

That had been the tipping point, she was sure of it now. One of many that knocked the blocks before it into place.

Nehemia tightened her hand around Celaena’s, but she could hardly feel it. She’d gone numb.

_ How naive she’d been. _

**She was actually eager to see the look on his face. She still owed him money, of course— he’d seen to it that her debts would keep her with him for a while—but there was no rule that said she had to live** **_with_ ** **him. And if he ever laid a hand on her again …**

“Celaena,” Nox said quietly, seeing the ashen pale look on her face. “What did he  _ do?” _

She just shook her head wordlessly. She was afraid if she opened her mouth, she’d be sick.

**If Arobynn ever laid a hand on her** **_or_ ** **Sam again, she’d see to it that he lost that hand. Actually, she’d see to it that he lost everything up to the elbow.**

Her stomach churned. 

“Lysandra slit his throat,” Rowan said casually at her side. He then looked at her, his pine-green eyes soft and understanding. “Killed him in his sleep, choked to death on his own blood. I just thought you’d want to know.”

The thought of the death of the man who’d raised her since childhood shouldn’t have been comforting, but… “Perhaps,” she croaked, licking her lips. “Lysandra is alright after all.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, and he made an aborted move with his hand, like he wanted to pull her close to his chest, but stopped himself.

**… Ansel didn’t come back to their room that night.** Pelor giggled as he read that.

Renault rolled his eyes.  _ Kids... _

**… Ansel took one look at the grin on Celaena’s face and glowered. “Don’t you even start.”**

**Celaena shoveled a heap of manure into the nearby wagon. Later she’d cart it to the gardens, where it would be used for fertilizer. “What?” Celaena said, grinning even wider. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”**

“You totally would have,” Rowan said, leaning closer.

She swallowed the memories this chapter had dragged up, and mustered a grin. “I totally would have.”

**Ansel snatched her shovel from where it leaned against the wooden wall, several pens down from where Kasida and Hisli now had their new homes. “Good. I got enough of it from the others while I was walking here.”**

“The walk of sh- _ ame!” _ Grave cooed.

Nox rolled his eyes. “Do you ever have anything  _ intelligent _ to contribute to these interruptions?”

**Celaena leaned against her shovel in the open gate. “I’m sure Mikhail will get his fair share of teasing, too.”**

**Ansel straightened, her eyes surprisingly dark. “No, he won’t. They’ll congratulate him, just like they always do, for a conquest well made.”**

**She let out a long sigh from her nose. “But me? I’ll get teased until I snap at them. It’s always the same.”**

Dorian grimaced. He’d… never thought about it that way. Was that what the noblewomen and courtesans who shared his bed faced come morning? Did he subjugate them to the same ridicule?

**They continued their work in silence. After a moment, Celaena spoke. “Even though they tease you, you still want to be with Mikhail?”**

Celaena’s expression soured. 

**Ansel shrugged again, flinging dung into the pile she’d gathered into the wagon. “He’s an amazing warrior; he’s taught me far more than I would have learned without him. So they can tease me all they want, but at the end of the day, he’s still the one giving me extra attention when we train.”**

“She’s using him to be noticed,” Renault realized. “Did she actually love him?”

Celaena shrugged. ‘If she did, her lust for power was stronger.”

**… “Besides,” Ansel said, glancing sidelong at Celaena, “not all of us can so easily convince the Master to train us.”**

**Celaena’s stomach twisted a little. Was Ansel jealous of that?**

Nehemia sighed. “You came to their home and immediately took the attention of their leader, who put your training above everyone else’s for weeks...”

“I know,” Celaena frowned. “I see it now.”

**… “The noble, clever, beautiful assassin from the North—the** **_great_ ** **Celaena Sardothien, has no idea why he’d want to train her? No idea that he might want to leave his mark on you, too? To have a hand in shaping your glorious fate?”**

Rowan winced. Yes, he could see why Aelin had been so conflicted over Ansel. Honestly, this novella made him even more surprised they hadn’t drawn their blades on each other in the first five minutes of their meeting.

**… “Fine,” Celaena said. “Yes: most of the people in the kingdoms know my name—know to fear me.” Her temper rose with dizzying speed.**

Oh no. Chaol already knew where this was going.

**“But you ... You want to know the truth about you, Ansel? The truth is, even if you go home and get what you want, no one will give a damn if you take back your speck of territory—no one will even hear about it. Because no one except for** **_you_ ** **will even care.”**

_ “Celaena.” _ Telmor’s voice was so sharp she felt like a child being chastised.

She just grimaced and folded herself further in the blankets. She didn’t want to see the looks on everyone’s faces.

**She regretted the words the instant they left her mouth.**

“Well, at least that is something,” Nehemia said quietly.

Celaena couldn’t help but feel like she’d let her friend down.

**Ansel’s face went white with anger, and her lips trembled as she pressed them together. ...**

**But Ansel stalked past her and said, “You’re just a spoiled, selfish bitch.”**

**With that, she left Celaena to finish their morning chores.**

“Damn,” Pelor said in the silence, marking his page in the book. “She’s a bitch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop any chapter title ideas in the comments below!


	27. of souls and sunset clouds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day to all my lovely readers!

_ “Pelor!”  _ Telmor seemed to choke on his own tongue, at a loss for words.

“What?” Pelor shrugged. “She is.”

“Be that as it may,” Dorian said, the corners of his mouth twitching, “it’s irrelevant to our conversation. Grave, you will read.”

The assassin sneered, his chapped lips curling around yellowing teeth. “Fine,  _ Your Highness,” _ he snarled, disrespectful tone bordering on treasonous. “Give me the book, boy.”

Chaol kept a hand on his sword as the book was passed down the table. He didn’t loosen his grip even when Grave flipped open to the correct page and squinted at the words.

“Chapter nine,” he started.

**Celaena couldn’t focus on her lesson with the Master that night.**

_ Oh no. _ Celaena had a feeling this chapter was going to be talking about  _ emotions. _ She shuddered at the thought.

**… The Master snapped his fingers, and Celaena, who was yet again studying an asp, looked up. Though she’d been mirroring the snake’s movements, she hadn’t noticed it was slowly creeping toward her.**

Rowan let out a deep breath through his nose. He clamped down on the panic welling within him. “You could have been hurt.”

“But I wasn’t,” Celaena scowled.

He swallowed tightly. His heart cried out  _ But you could have been. _ “Just be more careful next time,” was what he said instead. 

**… He motioned to leave the snake be and sit beside him on the merlons that ran around the roof.**

“So… what?” Nox asked. “You’re just going to leave a poisonous snake roam around free to attack you?”

“Venomous,” Pelor said.

Nox turned. “What?”

“The black asp is venomous,” Pelor clarified. “Not poisonous.”

Nox pinched the bridge of his nose. “Whatever, my point still stands.”

Celaena shrugged, mindful of the blanket tucked tightly around her shoulders. “The Mute Master wouldn’t have let the snake come close enough to become a danger.”

“You trust all your  _ masters _ like that?” Cain sneered, putting emphasis on the word  _ master. _

“No,” Celaena said quietly. “I don’t.”

Steel chains, whips, and silver eyes flashed in the corner of the room. The phantom smell of Gloriella was almost as overpowering as the flowering almond branches on the table.

**… The Master raised his eyebrows.** **_Talk_ ** **, he seemed to say.**

“Ugh,” Grave set the book down. “Is this going to be another  _ sappy _ chapter?”

Her mouth tasted sour as Celaena scowled at him.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you aren’t grateful for this opportunity?”

Grave reluctantly backed down. “No, Your Highness,” he muttered. “I’m not ungrateful.”

As he watched the assassin pick the book up again, Dorian could feel Rowan’s approving gaze on him.

**… She didn’t have anything to say, so they sat on the parapet in silence for a while—until even the cicadas went to sleep, and the moon slipped away behind them, and the sky began to brighten.**

Telmor’s brow furrowed. “How long were you up there?”

“Dunno,” Celaena shrugged. “A few hours, maybe.”

**_Talk_ ** **. Talk about what had been haunting her these months. Haunting every thought, every dream, every breath.** **_Talk_ ** **.**

_ “Talk,” _ Celaena grumbled, words bitter. Talk about what? She would give anything to have such childish fears as losing friendship again. As though her nightmares weren’t filled with mass graves and chain gangs. As though her waking hours weren’t plagued by the stupid competition and whatever was stalking the castle.

Nehemia squeezed her hand.

**“I’m scared to go home,” she said at last…**

Celaena stiffened in her seat, the blankets falling to pool around her waist. She hadn’t voiced the thought since the Desert, and had been far too scared to voice it again. She hadn’t wanted to go home, and the gods had granted her wish. She’d been sent to Endovier instead.

The mood around the table seemed to deflate. The armrests of Rowan’s chair were freezing over.

**…** **_Why?_ **

**“Because everything will be different.**

Telmor was suddenly hit with the stark realization that she was  _ still only seventeen. _ Still a child who feared change above else. She should not have been sitting in front of him only a year later, the continent’s most feared assassin, a survivor of a death camp, and now as a player in this unholy competition.  _ He _ was lucky; if he lost, it would just mean retirement for him, penniless as his army pension might make him, but safe nonetheless. 

He shuddered to think of the consequences she faced for losing. She was still so young and slight of frame, he doubted she would survive another year in the mines. And if she did manage to go free by some miracle, he didn’t want that master of hers anywhere near her.

She was still just a kid, but he was coming to understand that Adarlan made children grow up far too quickly.

**Everything is already different. I think everything changed when Arobynn punished me, but ... Some part of me still thinks that the world will go back to the way it was before that night. Before I went to Skull’s Bay.”**

“But would you want it to?” Pelor asked, small and curled in on himself. 

Celaena thought about it for a moment. “I - I don’t know any more. Part of me wants to say yes, because I could have avoided so much pain and suffering, but…” she wouldn’t have had Sam. She wouldn’t have glimpsed freedom for even a fleeting moment. But she  _ couldn’t _ say that, couldn’t make the words go past her lips, so she settled instead for: “But then I wouldn’t have met Chaol, Dorian, and Nehemia.”

Chaol nodded at her and Dorian grinned, though it was dimmed from its usual brilliance. Nehemia squeezed her hand again and let go to wrap the blankets around her shoulders once more. “I am glad to have met you as well, Elentiya.” 

**… Watching the Master, she could see each of the qualities she had copied for the past few weeks—the contained power and swiftness, the cunning and the smooth restraint.**

Arobynn had never had that restraint, Celaena knew. He was all passion and cold, glinting anger. His silver eyes were as frozen as the riverbank he’d found her on. So perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised at what he’d done to her after Skull’s Bay and  his involvement in Sam’s death and her capture she should have known it was only a matter of time before she hit his breaking point.

_ (She couldn’t let herself think of anything else. Something inside her threatened to shatter completely if she did.) _

**He went through the motions again, and it took only a glance in her direction to get her to her feet atop the parapet wall.**

Chaol made a sound in his throat like a dead man's final breath. “You were training  _ on top _ of the parapet?”

“Well, yeah,” Celaena tucked a lock of hair behind her ear from where it had escaped her braid. “How else are we supposed to get over our fear of heights?”

Chaol blanched at the thought. 

**Mindful of her balance, she slowly copied him, her muscles singing with the** **_rightness_ ** **of the movements. She grinned as night after night of careful observation and mimicry clicked into place.**

Pelor listened with rapt attention at the description of Celaena. She made fighting seem like a dance, the kill the climax of some forbidden musical piece. It was fascinating and a little terrifying, the way she got lost in the violence. 

He himself rarely killed his clients face-to-face. Instead, he used his small frame to slip through windows and drop arsenic in water jugs, or use his innocent, childish face to worm his way unnoticed into households and lace beauty creams with digitalis. This kind of murder was far less personal than what Celaena’s profession entailed, and not for the first time he wondered what his sponsor was thinking, entering him in this Competition.

It was clear that the King wanted a powerhouse, someone who could quickly and permanently silence the enemies of the court, not a boy who had a forgettable face and preferred methods that could take hours to kill. Still, Pelor wasn’t about to kneel and allow himself to be walked all over during the Competition. He’d done well on the poisons test, he’d thought, with the only other person achieving the same score as him being Celaena.

Celaena… Perhaps if he caught her on a good day, she’d agree to teach him that cool knife throwing trick of hers.

**… An hour after sunup, Celaena crept into her room, bracing herself for another fight, but found Ansel already gone to the stables. Since Ansel had abandoned her to do the chores by herself yesterday, Celaena decided to return the favor.**

“She deserved it,” Celaena said with a scowl.

Nox sighed. “No one was arguing with you.”

**… “It had better be afternoon,” Celaena said, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in her pillow.**

Chaol smothered a laugh. Celaena could definitely sleep that long if you let her.

**Ansel chuckled. “Oh, it’s almost dinner. And the stables and pens are in good order, no thanks to you.”**

**“You left me to do it all yesterday,” Celaena mumbled.**

**“Yes, well ... I’m sorry.”**

Renault raised an eyebrow. Like Celaena, he didn’t think Ansel knew how to apologize. The girls were far more alike than Celaena would like to think.

**Celaena peeled her face from the pillow to look at Ansel, who stood over the bed. Ansel twisted her hands. She was wearing her armor again.**

Telmor frowned. “If she was in the stables, why was she wearing her - oh.”

“Yeah,” Celaena grumbled.  _ “Oh.” _

**… Ansel tucked her red hair behind her ears. “I shouldn’t have said those things about you. I don’t think you’re spoiled or selfish.”**

“You are,” Cain hissed. 

Celaena still took satisfaction in his ruined face.

**“Oh, don’t worry. I am—very much so.”**

“No, you’re not,” Rowan murmured lowly, so only Celaena at his side could hear him. “You are compassionate and valiant and strong.”

Celaena’s eyelashes fluttered at the praise, but she didn’t acknowledge his words. Still, some part of her tucked them inside herself, something to remember only on the darkest days.

**Celaena sat up. Ansel gave her a weak smile. “But,” she went on, “I’m sorry for what I said, too. I didn’t mean it.”**

**Ansel nodded, glancing toward the shut door, as if she expected someone to be there. “I have lots of friends here, but you’re the first** **_true_ ** **friend I’ve had…**

Celaena began cursing under her breath with such ferocity that Dorian leaned forward on his throne. “Are you okay?”

“No.” Celaena said flatly. “I’m having my fucking life read aloud in the form of a  _ fun exciting book!” _ She made jazz hands as she said it, though the expression on her face was murderous. “And  _ now _ I have to listen to someone betray me -  _ again!” _

Dorian winced. “Okay, poor choice of words, but are you okay  _ now?” _

“I have to listen to Ansel speak again,” she grumbled. “So no, I’m not.”

“But,” Renault spoke up. “It’s been almost two years, right? Can’t you get over-”

“She fucking  _ poisoned _ me!”

Renault grimaced. That was a no, then.

**… Ansel flicked her eyes to the door again. What was she nervous about?**

Celaena swore under her breath.

**“Try to remember me fondly, will you?”**

Pelor glanced at Celaena, who was glowering in her seat and rapidly plowing through all the curses known to man, and decided against asking his question. He wasn’t in the mood to get stabbed today.

**“I’ll try. But it might be hard.”**

_ Hello bitch. _

_ Hello traitor. _

Rowan winced. He could see the charged hostility in that meeting, now.

**Ansel let out a quiet laugh and took two goblets from the table beneath the window. “I brought us some wine.”**

Pelor wrung his hands. Any number of poisons could be dissolved in wine, the strong flavour obscuring the taste and odor of even the most foul of them. Celaena was still alive, but he had no trouble thinking of any number of poisons that could cause great suffering while keeping its victim breathing. Which one had Ansel used?

**She handed one to Celaena. Ansel lifted her copper goblet. “To making amends—and fond memories.”**

“Fond memories, my ass,” Celaena grumbled.

**“To being the most fearsome and imposing girls the world has ever seen.”**

Well, Chaol grimaced. At least that toast had held out. Celaena was easily the most terrifying and dangerous woman he’d ever met, even if she didn’t always look it, surrounded by books and chocolate.

**… As she swallowed a large mouthful of wine, she had two thoughts.**

**The first was that Ansel’s eyes were now filled with unmasked sorrow.**

**And the second—which explained the first—was that the wine tasted strange.**

Pelor’s mind flew into overdrive. The wine hadn’t disguised the taste of the poison, so that either meant the dosage was strong or the poison had an incredibly noticeable flavour. She hadn’t mentioned the wine being off-colour, so the poison was likely clear. And it would probably have had to have been something Ansel could access easily from the desert Keep, for convenience's sake.

None of this boded well for Celaena.

He didn’t even notice he’d been reciting his list of poisons out loud until Telmor put a hand on his arm to settle him.

**But Celaena didn’t have time to consider what poison it was before she heard her own goblet clatter to the floor, and the world spun and went black.**

“Right.” Gave snapped the delicate book shut. “Who wants to read next?”

The room was silent, Celaena’s allies simmering with repressed rage. Finally, Rowan slowed his breath and unfroze his fingers from the chair. “Since I know the most about this time - other than Celaena - and am less likely to come across something unexpected during the chapter, I will.”

He held a hand out for the book.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, Scottish Rowan is the best.
> 
> Any ideas on chapter titles, put them in the comments below!
> 
> Reviews make me happy and give me motivation...


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